


Sanguis Limerence

by jl_micasea



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Adult themes throughout, All Rights Reserved, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bad decisions are made, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Brother conflict, Character Development, Confrontations, Developing Relationship, Discrimination, Do Not Translate, Do not repost, Estrangement, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gothic, Heavy Angst, Hostage Situations, Love Triangles, Post-War, Romance, SKz Smut, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Swearing, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Vampires are a known thing, big company at the centre of it all, mafia, plot heavy, stray kid smut, stray kids x reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:22:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 118,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28936947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jl_micasea/pseuds/jl_micasea
Summary: You have a job to do. That job is simple, in of itself. Yet the elusive vampire family you find yourself entangled with, the target of your job, makes things anything but straightforward. Can you traverse the thin lines between right and wrong when harsh truths are exposed and realities come to light? Can you resist the allure of danger, the appeal of the unknown? Experience this story of unlikely friendships, lurking threat, and entirely unexpected love.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Reader, Lee Minho | Lee Know/Reader
Comments: 31
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my most invested project. I took inspiration from a number of vampire media sources, threw them all together and the result is this. New chapters are posted every Friday. Feedback is hugely appreciated via AO3 or directly to my Tumblr. Please consider leaving kudos or a comment on this if you enjoyed it, they're all responded to and are what keeps me motivated. ~Mica  
> ~ [Tumblr](https://jl-micasea.tumblr.com/)  
> ~ [Ko-Fi](https://ko-fi.com/jlmicasea)

##### Vampires.

Demons born from the very depths of hell, undead and ice cold. Their essence is the blood they sup upon, their mere existence wrapped in a shroud of untold evils. Blessed with ethereal beauty and unnatural immortality, they bear faces of men and women, their true visages hidden beneath a mask of the purest flesh. They walk among us. Blatant as the daylight, blending with relative ease, their mannerisms and learned habits allowing them to cavort with the humans as though they are of their species.

And the humans, in their weakened states and doe eyed wonder, fall victim to the varying allures of the demons all too easily. Crumbled resolve and a sense of helpless enamour spells their doom, though they do not know it.

The vampires play their games. They submit to the call of the hunt, as is their nature. The burning thirst consumes them, drives them to seek their prey. They slink to the shadows if the need for abatement is urgent, detecting the nearest source of fresh blood to tap. Yet they much prefer to make a show of things. The destruction of a rapport built over time and meticulous preparation of a victim, makes the blood taste all the sweeter.

It’s largely too late the humans realise just how close their death inches, as the blood is drained from their necks and their vision greys, at the behest of someone they’ve had the misfortune of crossing paths with.

To the untrained eye, and to most others until several years ago, the vampires went about unnoticed. Their reign was uncontrolled, yet the deaths kept mounting, each of the corpses inexplicably exsanguinated, and it became harder for the powers that be to find a rational explanation.

You remembered the day the vampires were exposed. ‘V Day’, as it had grown to be known by since then. You were a teenager at the time, going about your normal morning routine before school, when the breaking news interrupted your breakfast.

You’d watched the broadcast enraptured, your parents either side of you, exclamations of disbelief and 'April Fools day must be early this year’, being made. Yet you’d known, almost instantly, that it was anything but a joke. Call it an inherent feeling, or a simple hunch, but something about a long buried myth being brought to life, right before your very eyes, resonated with you in ways you hadn’t expected. Excitement, a sense of new beginning and wonder.

If only others had been the same.

The immediate panic and worldwide outrage that followed had been impossibly predictable, with every country in the world essentially operating a state of lockdown upon the revelation that monsters were real.

Schools were closed, travel restrictions put in place. Shops shut, curfews implemented, with some even enforcing martial law, for a while. Anti-vampire organisations set the fires of prejudice, media and news outlets of every platform fanned them to billowing. The vampires were ostracised, hunted and thinned out until their numbers were fewer than several hundred thousand. Even had you wanted to shy away from the atrocities that ran rampant, you couldn’t have. For it was everywhere. And to no surprise, the casualties on both sides were innumerable, with the vampires unwilling to stand aside while their kind were pushed to the brink of extinction.

Never had the world been closer to a third outright war, and never had ignorance been rifer.

With the state of the world hanging from barely a thread, government institutions and authoritative bodies came together to form a single union, with the hopes that neutral ground could be found. Controls were needed. Measures and procedures put in place to protect both humans and vampires alike, albeit begrudgingly.

And so, the Worldwide Association of Human & Vampire Affairs was established. A middle ground. An organisation formed to offer those avenues of much needed protection.

WAHVA were given independent powers over military forces to quell the initial conflicts. New judicial and police authorities were formed, self-proclaimed specialists in the field of vampirism, equipped to handle any conceivable situation that might involve them, for all the good it did. Economic footholds were secured in all countries of the world, with seemingly limitless resources. Bills were passed, a blind democratic panic that pushed through laws on WAHVA’s guidance, granting vampires basic human rights, much to the thrill of the pro-vampire activists, and to the despair of the less than tolerant. Laws and governing bodies were beholden to them where vampire affairs were concerned, and after years of careful negotiations, education, and simple time, things appeared to settle.

You’d grown up on tales of monsters under the bed. The formless, faceless demons that lurked in the darkest shadows, never too far from collecting your soul, if you were to misbehave. As most children, you’d feared them at the time. Those stories had been a most effective incentive when your parents had struggled to get you into bed at a reasonable hour.

Yet the older you became, that fear transposed to something deeper. A sense of curiosity, tinged with fascination of the unknown. You’d ask your parents, when they’d said the boogeyman would come and take you away; “Where will he take me? What does he look like, mother?”

A part of you wanted to see, to talk to him. Childish naivete, perhaps, but no less real.

And so, the moment you’d seen the V Day broadcast and had your eyes blown open to a world of impossible truths, there’d been no doubt in your mind.

This was your calling. Working for WAHVA, it was what you’d been born to do. Because the formless, faceless creatures from the stories, had been given a form. They now had a face, and it wasn’t entirely dissimilar to your own.

Working with humans, for vampires, towards the benefit of all, was your goal.

And perhaps you’d even see something wonderful in the process.

* * *

#####  ***ring ring***

The sharp shrill of your phone ringing from the bedside table wasn’t how you’d wanted to be awoken today. In fact, you’d had no actual plans that involved getting out of bed at all, after the night you’d had. Or, what you could remember of it.

Your phone continued to ring, and with cracking one eye open came the surprising revelation that you weren’t alone.

Groaning under your breath, you threw the arm of the naked person whose name you couldn’t recall, off your middle, rubbing your head with the dull ache that encroached on you, no doubt a result of the obscene amounts of alcohol you’d drunk last night.

Pawing for your phone from the table, you eventually retrieved it, resting on your side as you answered the call without bothering to check the ID.

“What?” You rasped, clearing your bone dry throat.

_“Good morning, Miss. L/N.”_

There was only one person you knew of that ever bothered to address you by your last name. And you certainly hadn’t been expecting a call from them today, let alone this time in the morning.

“Sifer? What the hell do you want, do you have any idea what time it is?”

A low chuckle from the end of the phone told you that Sifer knew exactly what time it was, and that he found it endlessly amusing.

He was your sole connection to the Company, your singular source of information for the jobs that got thrown your way. You knew next to nothing about him, aside from the fact that he was clearly in prominent enough a position to be trusted with relaying your tasks, such as they were. He was the only person you’d ever had contact with, probably the only person you ever _would_ have contact with, and you were sure that was entirely deliberate.

_“Feeling less than fresh are we, Miss. L/N?”_

It was all you could do to hum in response, dragging yourself from the bed as you perched on the edge of it.

_“You know, you really should consider the impact alcohol has on your ability to do your job.”_

“How about you consider that that’s none of your damn concern.” You snapped, sweeping your hand through your matted hair as the stranger in your bed rolled dramatically to your side. “I can do my job just fine, soaped or not.”

 _“Mhm,”_ Sifer agreed, albeit patronisingly. _“Well then, I’ll refrain from making comment, Miss. L/N.”_

“You do that. So are you gonna tell me what you want or is this just a morning call?”

Another pause as you dared to stand up and move, your bare feet padding over the dark oak floor of your studio apartment.

_“We have a job for you.”_

You stopped just as you were about to retrieve your panties from the floor. The notion of an actual job coming in struck you as nothing but exciting, not least of all for the dire state of your finances.

“A job? It’s about time, I’ve been dry for months!” You smiled, wincing almost immediately as a warning throb shot through your skull.

_“Indeed. Circumstances have changed, and it would seem that we require your services as an Envoy once again.”_

_Envoy._ The damn word made you want to throw up. They dressed it nicely, but it was essentially WAHVA’s term for the lackeys they sent out to do their dirty work. You’d never wanted the title, and you’d told them that when you’d painstakingly negotiated a contract with them. Not that they seemed to be taking much notice.

“Freelance Envoy, Sifer. I’m _freelance_.” You reminded, not doubting that it wouldn’t be the last time you’d have to.

_“Of course, Miss. L/N.”_

You rolled your eyes at his dismissive tone, settling your phone between your ear and shoulder as you pulled on your panties, collecting your discarded tank top from the seat of your red leather sofa.

“So what’s the job?”

_“An assignment. A family gone rogue, if you will. They’ve ceased communications with us and are in breach of their contract in doing so. We simply need you to check that all is well, and report back. If you could encourage them to return our correspondence, all the better.”_

“A family gone rogue?” You repeated in disbelief. “You guys short staffed or something? There’s no other Envoy at your little headquarters that can handle this?”

It wasn’t that you were ungrateful for the opportunity. You were in no position to turn anything down, and you knew it, being as your only source of income were the jobs WAHVA slung at you when they either a) couldn’t have anything tied back to them, or b) considered a situation too dangerous to send in a 'real’ Envoy.

Being freelance meant that you weren’t subject to the same stringent, suffocating rules and regulations as the official Envoys that sported the WAHVA badges and marched to the beat of their corporate drum, which had its’ own obvious perks. But it also rendered you expendable. No official links to WAHVA meant that you, or more specifically, the things you did, could ever be traced back, yet that still suited you down to the ground. Self preservation had always been your forte, and conformity was never your thing.

Yet this job didn’t strike you as either too dangerous nor something that would require no traceable path back to WAHVA. You were so used to the tasks that consisted of reigning in a blood drunk vampire or complicated tracking, because those were things that the official lackeys simply weren’t capable of doing. This seemed far too tame in comparison, a simple family assignment.

Though 'family’ was a tentative word, assigned by WAHVA for appropriation purposes. In effect, they were clans.

Vampires of the same blood strain, close friends or lovers, that cohabited. Not families in the strictest sense of the word, though the application remained much the same. WAHVA theorised that giving humans a word they know, and applying it to a social structure they don’t know, would induce empathy and understanding.

You weren’t entirely opposed to the idea, yet not particularly fond of it either. You couldn’t help but feel like a piece of vampire culture was being overwritten with it, despite the good intentions. But all that stuff was above your pay grade, and certainly above your ability to care. You definitely weren’t about to be singing the company motto and preaching about 'gathering all vampire families under the WAHVA banner’, even if it did give them access to their resources and protection. The jury was still out on how well it even worked at all.

_“Oh, don’t worry Miss. L/N. Your… talents shan’t go to waste. There’s a reason this family has been delegated to you.”_

“And that is…?”

_“Our Envoys are not trained to deal with this particular class of family, as of this moment. Though of course, we hope to rectify that soon.”_

And by rectify, you knew he was referring to the training.

The rigorous tests and examinations WAHVA put their Envoy hopefuls through, in order to examine their latent resistance to vampire allures and instil them with temporary resistance where they lacked it.

Because WAHVA, in all their wisdom, had deemed that exposure to the vampire allures was the best way to determine their effects on humans. To shore a vaccine of sorts, for want of a better term. And in theory, you could understand that.

It was that very logic that had led to the development of the vampire volunteer programmes, that encouraged vampires under the WAHVA remit to come forward and aid in the stalwart union of humans and their kind, by training the Envoys themselves.

Envoy candidates that passed the initial tests would be subjected to most every kind of allure WAHVA knew of through their comprehensive study of the species. Vampire volunteers would use their abilities, to varying effects. Most would withstand it and develop the temporary resistance they would no doubt need to do their job, as was the whole point of the exposure. Yet some wouldn’t, despite their reassurances that they _could_ , and those hopefuls usually ended up broken in more ways than one.

But for the successes, they’d get the shiny little golden brooch that identified them as an Envoy, all smiles and laughs until they got home and crashed for weeks, useless and in no shape to actually work.

It wasn’t something that had ever appealed to you, and a large part of the reason you’d gone freelance at all. You knew your capabilities well enough without the borderline psychological break to confirm it.

“So they’re a blood strain you’re not equipped for then? Brilliant.” You half-laughed, pulling the tank top on over your head.

_“Yes, quite. They’re a mixed bag, in truth. Unusual.”_

“Mixed bag? What are they then Sifer?”

Another pause, as if he was preparing for something.

_“According to our intelligence, the family appears to consist of eight vampires, with, uh-”_

You held your breath, waiting for the explanation that Sifer no doubt seemed to be hanging on to, either for fear of your reaction, or something far more sinister.

“With…?”

_“With… Class A blood strains.”_

It took a lot to surprise you. You were the type of person to take things in your stride, never too fazed by anything if you could help it.

Yet the way your jaw hung slack with Sifer’s revelation was undeniable.

“Are you… This is… It’s a death sentence. You know that right? And what do you mean _appears_ to consist of? You don’t know for sure?”

 _“Well,”_ Sifer mumbled, clearing his throat, _“this particular family has neglected their communications with us. Only one of our Envoys was successful in meeting with them. And that was for the enrolment, so we’re working from old information. They also refused identification tests. Since then, we’ve-”_

“Okay, wait,” you interrupted, throwing open the door to your bathroom, “you’re telling me, Sifer, that you’ve only ever had _one_ Envoy meet with this clan-”

_“Family.”_

“Family, whatever. But they’ve been seen just the once, they refused the blood ID'ing, you don’t know what their allures are _specifically_ , and you reckon they’re probably the most dangerous ones?!”

No two vampires are the same, and it is their allures that make them so different.

Or their powers, for want of a better word. Allure being the term that, once again, WAHVA deemed better. Calling their abilities 'powers’ sounded too close a supernatural thing, despite the fact that’s entirely what the vampires are. So 'allures’, in much the same way as all their other terms, gave humans a meaning to slap to the thing they didn’t understand.

Every vampire has an allure, and it is their blood strain that gives birth to it. The more potent the blood, the more powerful the allure. It stood to reason, yet posed such an unpredictable danger in addition to the raw strength and speed of the creatures, that WAHVA decided measures were needed.

Measures in the form of categorisation and aforementioned training of Envoys. Utilising the vampires through the volunteer programmes, for human self defence and preparation, though it was never permanent. You supposed WAHVA considered this the next best thing.

It was surely a mammoth task to undertake, yet regardless of WAHVA’s best efforts, to this day not every allure is accounted for.

Namely, the allures born from Class A blood strains, as Sifer had just informed you.

WAHVA categories reduced the vampires and their long, complicated lineages to those of lettered strings, from C to A, ascending in threat level.

Vampires of a Class C blood strain posed the least threat. They could, by and large, be considered the newborns or the accidents, those who were turned in the heat of the moment or through pure lack of attention. They never usually lived long enough to do any real damage, with their allures being no more powerful than standard parlour tricks and breakable glamours. Manageable, by all accounts, and you’d come across your fair share of them during tracking missions.

Class B’s were somewhat more of a danger, having survived the weaning stage and finding their feet. They often knew what their allures did, and if they had the right mind about them, would utilise them to their advantage. Projection and transformations, even shape-shifting in some cases, they were not to be taken lightly.

Yet those that possessed Class A blood strains, were an entirely different telling of creature. Perhaps the purest of their kind, and certainly the most powerful.

They were the only blood strains to be given individual names outside of the usual letter category, as their threat indicated such a need, and perhaps that in itself told you everything you needed to know.

Hazebloods, faebloods, and erosbloods. Class A’s, as far as your chopped knowledge of vampires went.

The hazeblood vampires were able to manipulate, telling from the shaky eyewitness accounts and patchy data collected on their brief appearances. Their allures consisted of mental weakening and hypnotising their prey, providing an easy, impromptu meal and catering to more sinister purposes, where needed.

The faeblood vampires, desperately few in number according to nothing more solid than baseless conjecture, were theorised to have allures which gave them an innate connection to human emotion. Able to augment and change the very things their prey feels, with so much as a look. Far more threatening than first anticipated.

And lastly, the erosblood vampires, rarer than any other kind, were known for their inclinations to love and sex of every type. Named in light of it, in fact, though they remained shrouded in uncertainty and myth. Tales suggested that their allures allowed them to make themselves beautiful beyond recognition, instilling sexual appeal in themselves and others, as well as a range of other glamours and effects. Threatening for obvious reasons, you supposed.

You’d never encountered any of them in the field, and had counted it a wondrous blessing so far.

And now, WAHVA’s shirking of this family seemed to make perfect sense.

They’d never risk their own Envoys with something so potentially dangerous. Too many unknown variables. Too much room for things to go drastically wrong, when they inevitably did.

_“Miss. L/N, I can assure you, you’ll be perfectly safe-”_

“Oh, will I? You can assure that can you? Don’t bother, Sifer. You never have before.” You quipped, turning on the shower faucet.

_“I see. Well, as always, you’ll have access to all our resources and information, via myself. Further details of the job should be with you shortly.”_

“Because your resources have been so helpful in the past, right? Is there anything you actually know for certain about this family?”

_“We know where they’re based, Miss. L/N-”_

“Brilliant.”

Something resembling an exasperated sigh huffed through the end of the phone, which wasn’t something Sifer typically did, preferring to remain frustratingly professional at all times. Though you doubted even he could refute the idiocy of this whole thing.

_“Look, Y/N… Off the record, I know this is a lot. You don’t have to do this. Just turn it down.”_

The very reversion to first name terms told you that he must have felt some semblance of guilt for this whole thing.

“You know I can’t afford to do that Sifer. I’m already three weeks late on the rent. You guys pay well, even if you do throw me to the sharks.”

Free hand under the running water, you nodded in satisfaction with the scalding temperature. You wandered back to the main living space, thereby finding the first problem you’d have to solve today. The naked person in your sheets that was still knocked out, for all intents and purposes.

“Listen, I’ll call you when I’ve read the debrief, if I’ve got any questions. Sound good?”

_“As you wish, Miss. L/N.”_

And back to professionalism. You couldn’t help but smile in defeat.

_“I look forward to your report.”_

“Yeah. See ya’ Sifer.”

Ending the call, you tossed your phone to the sofa, taking a stabilising breath as you approached the sleeping beauty. Who on second look, wasn’t so much of a beauty after all. You really had drunk too much last night.

“Hey,” you called out, prodding their ribs. “Wake up.”

A resounding grunt and gestures of refusal to get up made you huff in irritation, and you considered just throwing them out the door with force. Wouldn’t be the first time you’d had to.

“You need to leave. I’ve got work.” You stated, whipping back the sheets from their writhing form as you turned back to the bathroom, leaving them to their own devices.

“Can I call you?” The stranger rasped, pulling themselves from the bed.

“Uh, I’ll call you. And thanks for last night. I think.”

You waved off the look of offence that comment got you, kicking the bathroom door shut before you jumped into the shower.

The scalding water drenched your skin, doing something minor to ease the thudding in your head. You pressed your hands to the cold tiled wall, contemplating everything you’d been told.

WAHVA and their overbearing authority. A clan of potentially very dangerous vampires, who no doubt wouldn’t be pleased with the intervention. And you, caught in the middle of it all, just trying to earn a paycheck.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult. All you needed to do was check in on them, right? Make sure they weren’t ravaging the neighbours and storing blood volunteers in their basement? Avoid their allures, not piss them off, and remind them to call someone at WAHVA, so you could call it a day?

Perhaps it’d be a cake walk.

Perhaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ Feedback via [Tumblr](https://jl-micasea.tumblr.com/) or on AO3  
> ~ Support via [Ko-Fi](https://ko-fi.com/jlmicasea)


	2. Chapter 2

##### The debrief, courtesy of WAHVA’s intelligence department, was about as helpful as you’d anticipated.

You’d found it pinned to your front door, as was the usual way these things from the company turned up. Sealed in a brown paper envelope, bound with coiled string, not a single word nor address stamped to it. You never had any idea how it managed to end up on your door, though you knew the company had their ways of getting information around. It didn’t bother you as much as it probably should have.

Kicking your feet to your makeshift coffee table, something you’d thrown together from old bricks, recycled glass and a slab of polished wood, you browsed over the last details imprinted on the paper.

Much of what Sifer had told you seemed accurate, with a few additional details here and there in the form of scribbled notes, which you could only assume came from the first Envoy that made contact with them.

 **FAMILY:** _Eight vampires total. Age varies. Refused blood tests for verification of strain. Visual verification to be utilised, where possible. Refused involvement in WAHVA volunteer programmes, allure testing and legal representation. Minimal contract to be drawn up. See Envoy observations as drawn from enrolment interviews below (hereby referred to as IV from this point on)._

 **BANG CHAN:** _Pleasant disposition, appears to be the leader of the clan. Self appointed? The others look to him for guidance. Age uncertain, but most definitely the eldest of the group. Demeanour suggests he is the most likely to be reasoned with, if any. Personable. Blood strain unidentifiable, seemingly no inclination to any as far as visual indicators go._

 **LEE MINHO:** _Personality/body language points towards that of erosblood. Maintained heavy eye contact throughout, Envoy experienced feelings of an erotic/intimate nature with his presence. Values shock factor, as evident during IV. (See text logs). Unpredictable. Volatile. Exercise extreme caution. IV cut short at Envoy’s discretion._

 **SEO CHANGBIN:** _Appears to value strength moreso than the others. Potential hazeblood, again, cannot confirm with certainty. Caution advised, let slip during IV that he has an inclination towards those that display submissive tendencies, (see text logs for further info), might be related to his allure. Superiority complex?_

 **HWANG HYUNJIN:** _Nature appears gentle, though mannerisms are intense. Envoy could not maintain eye contact for prolonged amounts of time, no doubt a result of his allure. Visual verification near impossible as a result. Would surmise either erosblood or faeblood?_

 **HAN JISUNG:** _Asked about Envoy’s love life, without prompting during IV. Consistently diverged topics, struggled to maintain a conversation. Cheerful temperament, though appeared to be visibly upset when Envoy confirmed they were single during rapport building. Unclear what relevance this has. Blood strain unidentifiable._

 **KIM SEUNGMIN:** _Caution advised. Stoic and difficult to engage in conversation with, demonstrated extreme reluctance during whole IV process. Appeared tense, answered questions with questions of his own where communication occurred. Minimal information to relay, blood strain entirely uncertain._

 **LEE FELIX:** _Envoy would identify this one as a faeblood. Experienced feelings of unexplained comfort with his presence, as well as additional side effects that implicate faeblood strain and an allure of emotional tendency. Pleasant personality, was cooperative throughout IV. Appears to be on the younger side. Ended interview with a hug._

 **YANG JEONGIN:** _Further caution to be taken. Personality unpredictable. Displayed cooperation initially, then drastically refused. Appeared to blow air in Envoy’s direction at one point, to which the apparent leader scolded him for. Would surmise that this is a direct connection to his allure, if not the catalyst for it, but cannot confirm with certainty._

The more you read, the more you found yourself wondering what the hell you were getting into.

Eight vampires, each of them wildly different in personality and stature. Yet something seemed to hold them together as one cohesive unit, and you could undoubtedly admire that.

The information in the debrief was valuable inasmuch as it gave you an idea of your best target, your first point of contact at the very least.

And that, by all accounts, appeared to be Bang Chan. The self appointed leader.

Dragging your feet from the coffee table, you picked up the small flip lighter atop it, flicking it to life as you held the flame under the corner of the paper. You didn’t need to read the last instructions on the debrief to know what it said. It was always the same. _Highly classified, burn after use._

You watched as the flame caught, creeping up along the edges before you dropped it in the metal bin beneath your feet, leaving it to reduce to ashes. Running your hands through your hair, you contemplated the best way to approach this.

Directly? Walk straight up to their front door and show yourself inside? The method had its’ perks, and with any luck, the job would be over sooner than you’d anticipated. Yet on the other hand, they could just as easily slam the door in your face and tell you to take a hike. Which would no doubt complicate things.

Perhaps an indirect introduction would be better. It’d certainly be safer. Scope them out for a while, learn their habits and routines. Give yourself the upper hand when you eventually have to make a formal introduction. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d had to take a stealthier approach, and while you weren’t one to blow up your own ego, you were admittedly damn good at it.

Standing from the sofa, you made a beeline for the heavy silver trunk that sat neatly at the foot of your bed, taking the small padlock that kept it secure in hand. Fishing the key from your pocket, because you never kept it too far away, you unlocked the trunk and grunted as you pushed the heavy lid open with both hands.

A smile broke out over your face as you took in your collection, a veritable array of vampire propaganda and toys that you’d collected over the years. Shirts embossed with the timeless ‘bite me’ slogan and flags from the pro-vamp rights marches you’d attended. You hadn’t always been such a fangirl, for want of a better word, and you had no doubt that if WAHVA ever discovered your interests went beyond a mere professional level, they’d have something to say about it. That’s why these stayed here. Secretly tucked away, for your eyes only.

Yet it wasn’t the only function of this trunk.

Reaching inside, you deftly unhooked the clasps at either side of the inner tray, lifting it from the container.

And you were equally as impressed with your second collection.

An assortment of anti-vampire tools and gadgets, some of which came courtesy of WAHVA, others you’d created or bought yourself. All of them humane, as long as they were used correctly. Because as much as you believed that vampires weren’t the mindless, ferocious beasts the myths and bigots made them out to be, you also weren’t stupid. You knew that when the thirst took over, even the most controlled and compliant of vampires could lose themselves to the call of the blood. And self preservation came before all else.

You looked over the weapons and tools, firstly retrieving the heavy leather belt that would allow you to keep these things on you at all. Hooking it around your hips, you readjusted the pouches and straps to your liking, knowing you’d be able to get what you needed when muscle memory kicked in.

Securing the buckle, you fished inside the silver trunk, grabbing the first weapon.

A wooden stake. Classic, and painfully cliche, yet nothing was more effective when it came down to it. Carved from aspen branches and polished to a deadly sharp point, it was the sole thing capable of killing a vampire without having to resort to the grisly affair of decapitation. A single stab through the heart would do the job just fine, though you had yet to ever see it in action, much to your relief. You’d never gone wrong with erring on the side of caution.

Pricking the end of your finger with the point of the stake, you grimaced in satisfaction as it appeared to be as sharp as you needed, shoving it into the hook at the back of your belt.

The second thing you collected, was a set of handcuffs. Not particularly threatening, nor much use unless they were made from pure, undiluted silver. And lucky for you, these ones were just that. Silver, in its’ rawest form, acted as an effective deterrent to vampires, burning them should they come in contact with it. At the very least, it caused physical pain, with the added side effect of dampening vampire healing abilities. You weren’t sure whether you were grateful for that.

Securing the handcuffs to your belt, you retrieved the third tool you hoped you wouldn’t have to use.

A small vial, secured in a metal canister, once again made from silver, it looked not entirely unlike a ream of film. Holding it to your ear, you shook it abruptly, satisfied with the sound of nothing inside. You had remembered to empty it after the last time. Unscrewing the lid, you carefully pulled the smaller, glass vial from the canister before picking up one of the many hunting knives stowed away in the trunk.

Knife in one hand, glass vial in the other, you wandered over to the kitchen sink, setting the vial aside while you did what needed to be done.

It was never pleasant, this kind of pain. But using this had saved your life on more than one occasion where you’d needed to leash up a blood drunk vampire.

Holding your palm over the sink, you took the knife in the other, dragging the sharp blade across your skin in one quick motion.

“Fuck-” You hissed, throwing the weapon into the sink as the wound on your hand began to expel fresh blood. Grabbing the vial, you quickly held it under the free flow, catching the drops as best you could.

Essentially, this was your grenade. Your smoke bomb. Your ticket to freedom if things got out of hand. Throw the delicate vial anywhere near the vampire, and hope it breaks. The smell of your exposed blood acted as the perfect distraction, their immediate need for abatement acting above their need to drink from the vein. On occasion it had even been _too_ good, drawing vampires from miles away that you hadn’t intended to target.

But it had to _be_ fresh. Anything less wouldn’t do, as you’d discovered the hard way when you’d tried to use a three day old 'blood grenade’ on a vampire that had taken a distinct interest in the way you smelled, as had been known to happen now and then. You’d barely got away with your life, and weren’t about to make the same mistake again.

Just before the vial began to overflow, you wrapped a towel around the wound, stopping the flow. You placed it carefully back in the silver canister, screwing the lid back on and popping it into the pouch of your belt, for safe keeping.

And with that, there was just one final thing you needed. Though it wasn’t in your trunk.

Wandering over to the nightstand beside your bed, you picked up the piece of jewellery you’d taken off the night before, mildly amused that even in your drunken state, you’d remembered not to lose this. Some things just appeared to be embedded in you.

Taking hold of the chain, you held it up before your eyes, admiring the way the small pendant swung gently. It was something you’d fashioned yourself, through one evening of creative indulgence. The chain you’d snagged from a small thrift store you’d happened upon, and the contents of the pendant itself from an independent well-living store that you doubted had any actual _real_ knowledge as to the occult effects of their stock.

This was arguably the most important thing you could have on your person. It looked innocent enough, on the surface, and indeed posed no threat to anyone other than a vampire.

Because inside the pendant, were the shavings of a branch born from a deciduous shrub. The rosa acicularis, to those who know their stuff. Prickly wild rose to you and the common man. The flowers themselves were beautifully pink in colour with a stark yellow centre, yet more importantly than their appeal, was their use. The branches of said shrub acted as a natural vampire repellent, and could even be harmful if used in such a way. Keeping it around your neck ensured that even if all your other tools were to fail, and you found yourself in the most dire of situations, that being a vampires’ fangs not inches away from your carotid artery, you’d still have a fighting chance. The smell alone would be repugnant enough to put them off, giving you the opportunity to run. For all the good that would do.

Unclasping the chain, you strung it around your neck, adjusting the resting position of the pendant on your décolletage.

Now, with everything you needed and equipped for more or less any eventuality you could think of right now, you were ready to go.

Ready to meet this new family, and bring them back on board with WAHVA.

Easy.

* * *

##### During your time as a freelance Envoy, you’d been to all manner of locations and places.

Not much surprised you anymore, and you were sure by now that you’d seen it all, what with everything you’d done for WAHVA over the years.

It seemed you were wrong about that.

Pulling up outside the address given in the debrief, you could do nothing but gawp through your windshield as you turned off the engine, slumping back in your seat. You’d had a feeling this was unusual during the drive through curved, narrow lanes, especially when the scenery had transformed from the city you knew, to spanning fields and forest.

Directly in front of you, was a massive cast iron gate, wound with intricate metal detailing from top to bottom. Right in the centre of the gate, broken through the middle where they would inevitably part, rested an infinity symbol, proud and bold. The gate stood several feet tall, surrounded by even higher walls either side that disappeared into the dense forestry. You wouldn’t have a cat in hell’s chance of climbing over the thing, that much was evident.

You had wanted to do this the indirect way, yet that plan seemed to be disappearing by the second.

You couldn’t be sure how far out of the city you were, and in truth, you hadn’t even known that a place like this existed. How WAHVA had discovered it at all was a miracle, the only indication that there was even a residence here being given away by the faintest sight of roof spires in the distance, peeking over the canopy of trees. And that did nothing to ease your worries. Exactly how grand was this place that it a) required a locked gate, and b) had towers large enough to be seen over the foliage?

You quickly began to feel out of your depth, and your options appeared all too limited.

In that there was one, and one only.

Retrieving your equipment belt from the passenger seat, you climbed out of the car, throwing it around your waist as you approached the gate. Freshly fallen leaves and twigs crunched beneath your boots as you walked, the dirt path only acting as a reminder that real roads and pavements were entirely absent out here.

With the madness of you quite literally walking up to their front door and ringing the bell, you supposed your job was doomed to failure before it had even begun. Perhaps your charms would get you out of this one. If you were lucky.

The cold metal intercom embedded into the wall appeared to be your only means of communication, and so, taking a deep breath, you pressed your finger to the button.

The gristly sound of static echoed from the speaker, lasting only a few seconds before it stopped.

“Uh, hello?” You called, leaning in to the intercom. “Is anyone there?”

More static, but nothing that seemed to resemble a voice from the other end.

“I… uh, I need to speak with the family that lives here.”

Telling them you were with, or representing WAHVA, was probably a sure fire way to get yourself locked out, particularly if they’d deliberately cut off contact with them. So you withheld that small detail. For the time being.

“Can I come inside…? I’m not here to cause any trouble-”

And just as those last words left your mouth, the gates to your left began to creak open.

“Jackpot.” You beamed, jogging back to your car.

Honestly, you couldn’t believe that had worked. You certainly wouldn’t have opened the gate for someone who just turned up on the spot with no rhyme or reason to be there.

Hopping back into the drivers seat, you unhooked your belt once more, throwing it to the passenger side before you flicked the ignition to life. You inched forwards as the large gates rutted over the dirt, separating before you.

With just enough space for you to get through, you did exactly that. Driving through the gates, you wound down your window to get a better view of the frankly bewildering scenery, mildly enjoying the way the fresh country air felt on your skin. It was pleasant, and all too rare given you barely ever left the city.

The drive to the residence proper was hilariously lengthy, but as the road ahead transformed from dirt and mud to tarmac and concrete, you found yourself looking upon the home of this family before too long.

It was gigantic. A veritable mansion, although castle wouldn’t have been a stretch.

Grand in stature and size, the spires you noticed earlier now towered above you, seeming endless in their height. The mansion itself was constructed of what looked like old sandstone, sandy in colour, rough in texture. The architecture was as ambitious as the most traditional of castles you’d seen in fairy tales, and indeed, it could have been taken from the very pages of such a book. Stunningly intricate stonework laced the trims and elongated windows, though there were surprisingly few of them for the size of it. You supposed that might have been deliberate, given who it was home to.

The road before you rounded off into a circular private drive, settled at the front of the estate. At its’ centre, stood a fountain that had long since run dry of water, instead having been claimed by creeping ivy and foliage, much like the rest of the mansion exterior.

It was undoubtedly beautiful, and entirely daunting. So different from what you were used to, what with your jobs usually taking you to back alleys or downtown red light districts, places where the vampires could blend with relative ease and without the risk of being hunted by those who would do them harm.

But this place… it was almost a statement of resilience. A firm 'fuck you’ to the people that believed vampires shouldn’t live a life of opulence or normality, and admittedly, you loved everything about it.

Pulling to a gradual stop on the gravel drive, you suddenly felt vastly under-dressed as you stepped out of your car, hooking your trusty belt around your hips. Not that you were here for a special occasion, but this place had a way of making you feel immediately inferior.

You’d expected someone to come out, even just to offer an introduction, yet that didn’t appear to be on the cards with the notable absence of life. Looking around, you realised how cut off you really were from any form of cultivated civilisation. You hadn’t passed any other houses or shops on your way here, which indicated there were none around for miles. On top of that, you were surrounded on all sides by thick forest that almost definitely posed a good way to get lost. It was disconcerting at best, with no easy way out if things went bad. Seclusion at its’ finest.

Caution was definitely called for.

Climbing the flight of stone steps to the heavy looking front door, you took a steeling breath in as you rapped firmly on the wood. The sound echoed through the immediate area, so much louder than you’d anticipated. You couldn’t help but wince.

You waited, tensed for a response.

Only for none to arrive. You began to pray they weren’t sleeping. There was surely no quicker way to piss off a vampire than waking them from their slumber.

But _someone_ had opened the gate for you, so there had to be at least one person here.

“Hello?” You called, knocking on the door again, utilising your whole fist this time.

And as if by magic, the door gave way with your final knock.

It was controlled, the way it swung open before you, the subsequent creak sending chills down your spine. Too slow to have been a result of the meagre force you were applying to it, it was surely no accident.

A sudden gust of dusky afternoon wind swept up from behind you, sending the dried leaves and other debris from the floor to a gentle dance. Goosebumps pricked up across your skin, and the subsequent shiver that followed was entirely involuntary.

Taking a tentative step past the open door, every one of your senses kicked to high alert, eyes darting every which way.

It was dark inside. Too dark to be functional for humans, yet you already knew that only vampires resided here. Or, that was what you’d hoped. Having any humans on the premises would vastly complicate things, depending on their reasons for having them there, and those usually only extended to their use as an illegal blood volunteer.

Allowing a moment for your eyes to adjust, your shadow crept over the only light that shone through the open door behind you, the leaves that had been swept inside crunching softly beneath your boots.

The interior was as luxurious as the exterior suggested it should be, from what you could make out through your focusing sight.

A garish red carpet spanned the middle of the spotless marbled floor, flowing up the central posted staircase that branched off to a balconied second level at either side. Portraits and extinguished candelabras lined the tall walls, long since being robbed of the embers that once lit them. The windows, although there were few of them, were blacked out by heavy velvet curtains that grazed the floors, still unmoving even with the breeze you’d invited in.

Deathly silence rung in your ears, each step you took sounding far too loud, despite how careful you were being. And just as you approached the centre of the room, the door behind you swung firmly shut.

You spun around in fright and the last remnants of light were closed off, leaving you entirely in blackness. You reached to the back of your belt, acting purely on the muscle memory that had kept you alive until now, your hand clasping around the aspen stake, ready to withdraw.

“Who’s there?” You called out, desperately trying to see through the darkness.

A sound of rustling resonated from your left, and you whipped around in that direction.

You weren’t alone.

“I know you’re in here…” You spoke, your voice stable despite the increase of your heart rate. “I just want to talk.”

Another whipping of wind to your right, a result of someone’s pure speed and momentum, and you followed the sound, never leaving your back to it as your grip on the stake tightened.

“Why don’t you come out? I’m not going to hurt you…”

Laughter. Husky, taunting laughter resounded from the shadows, as if whoever was there was amused by the fact that you even thought you _could_ hurt them. It called the hairs on your skin to attention.

“You’re adorable, you know that?”

The voice was raspy, almost dry in the way it sounded. Deep and as dark as the room you were in, it was definitely more threatening than anything you’d heard before.

“Do you make a habit of walking into peoples’ homes, uninvited?”

It appeared to be coming from all directions, and it was impossible by now to determine the source. You continued to turn on the spot, as prepared for anything as you could be.

“The door opened _for_ me. You didn’t do that?” You replied, eyes wide with focus.

“You don’t know how lucky you are,” the voice drawled, “we can’t come and go as we please. Unlike you, we need an invitation.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, still aware of the fact that you were a potential victim here.

“I know you’re vampires. So you can save the exposition. It’s what I’m here for.”

“Oh? So we have a curious kitty then? Haven’t you ever heard the saying? Curiosity gets _your_ kind killed…”

Fucking vampires and their games. This wasn’t the first time you’d been subjected to it.

“Can you just come out? Show yourself, and we’ll talk. Like I said, I’m not going to hurt-”

Another hyper rush of wind swept past you, forcing your words back down your throat, yet this one was much stronger. You stumbled backwards with the force of it, tugging your stake from its’ loop and choking on the sudden breath you took that sent your mouth dry.

Yet you didn’t hit a wall. Nor the door. But you also didn’t fall.

You were caught. By a pair of ice cold hands, firm on your bare upper arms, a broad chest to your back.

Every cell in your body froze. Your senses were screaming, yet your reflexes refused to cooperate, any will to run or fight all but evaporating with the direct contact of hands on your skin.

A gentle breath fanned across the back of your neck, not too close, yet enough to render you helpless. Held in place by the vampire behind you, their mere presence seemed enough to overpower you.

“And what makes you think,” he purred quietly, “that you stand a chance of hurting me at all, hm?”

His voice, this close, was saccharine. It hadn’t been before.

“I… I d- didn’t…”

“Mhm, that’s right.” He muttered, his fingertips tracing down your forearms. “You never did.”

You knew what was happening. You felt it before your head even registered it, the moment he’d touched you. The way your mind was running desperately dry of thoughts of self defence, filled instead with hazed visions of the man you hadn’t even seen yet.

His allure. Whatever it was, given the circumstances you deduced it must have worked through touch. It was all-consuming, the urge building inside you to submit to this man. To _serve_ him. A craving to please this faceless person, make him happy in ways you didn’t have the capacity to conjure up.

“Why don’t you turn around for me, curious kitty?”

You couldn’t have attempted to refuse. Your body was no longer your own as you simply turned on the spot, your feet moving without your command.

And the second your eyes met his, you fell to your knees.

He sported a clean, silver undercut that revealed the multiple piercings in his ear. A jawline that could cut metal, sharp and prominent. Thick black lashes and that supernatural beauty that only comes with a life of immortality. Yet it was the smug smirk of victory plastered to his plump lips that told you, he’d won. As easy as that.

“There’s a good girl…” He crooned, crouching down before you, meeting you at your level. “Drop that nasty thing for me.”

With his command, the stake fell from your fingertips, landing with a heavy clatter to the marbled floor.

His fingertips dragged a path back up your arms, across your shoulder and graced your chin, his deep, crimson tinted irises locking with yours.

“You’re not a bad one, actually.” He mused, cocking his head. He lifted your wrist to his lips, and where you would have normally reached for anything to defend yourself, you didn’t. You simply allowed it. You _wanted_ it, your lids fluttering as he pressed his nose to the skin and took a long, deep inhalation of your scent.

“You smell _fucking_ delicious, too.”

His gaze trailed over your face, resting on your lips for a brief moment before he went about admiring the rest of you.

“I might just keep you. What do you think?”

You nodded mindlessly, unable to fight whatever power his touch was claiming over you.

“Good. Why don’t you tell me your name?”

“Y/N…” You mumbled quietly.

“Pretty. But I’ll call you kitty from now on, yes?”

Another nod in response. You wanted him to call you whatever _he_ wanted.

“The others call me Changbin,” he sighed, sweeping his thumb carefully across your bottom lip, “but you’ll refer to me as Master.”

“Y- Yes, Master.”

He smiled brazenly, the very tips of his fangs just barely visible. You could count that as a small blessing, at least. If he had any intentions of drinking from you, those fangs would be well and truly extended by now.

Though you weren’t averse to the idea of him drinking from you. Of his fangs sinking to your flesh, sucking the blood from your veins, of being his nourishment.

You wanted it, _desired_ it. If it would make him happy, you’d gladly let him.

And that was when it dawned on you, albeit far too late. The sense of self preservation you valued so dearly had abandoned you. Any will to survive, truly crumbled with the effects of his allure.

You were his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	3. Chapter 3

##### “This is where you’ll be staying.”

You’d gone along with Changbin through the winding halls and grand corridors of the mansion, not a word of protest or complaint slipping through your lips as he’d led you to a wing that appeared to be at the rearmost end of the property. You hadn’t had the foresight to take in any kind of mental map as he’d guided you, whereas normally you’d have already been memorising routes and possible escape points.

Tunnel vision had well and truly take precedence. You could see nothing but him.

He ushered you inside a well furnished room, closing the door behind the two of you.

It was equally as luxurious as the rest of the place, soft furs and expensive satins adorning the large four poster bed. A white wooden armoire nestled in the corner, next to a white vanity table and large oval mirror. An impressive bay window overlooked the thick forest outside, yet it was secured neatly with a padlock. It looked all but brand new, and definitely hadn’t been lived in.

“I’m down the hall.” Changbin informed, never keeping his hand from your skin. “I’ll come and get you when I need you.”

You nodded in mindless agreement, hoping that he’d need you all the time.

He smiled at you once more, his lips curving in that way that you’d instantly loved. For you loved everything about him now, even the things you had yet to see.

Placing his hands on your shoulders, he looked you firmly in the eye, his brow furrowing just enough to indicate an element of seriousness.

“I need you to listen to me.”

“I’m listening, Master.”

He inhaled sharply, clearly never tiring of the effect he had.

“When I leave here, you might start to feel like you want to leave too. You might start to panic, and you might think you’ve been taken hostage, or prisoner, or something.”

You nodded.

“But that’s not real, okay kitty? That’s just because I’m not with you. When I come back, when I touch you again, you’ll be back to normal. Back to feeling just like this. And you like this, don’t you?”

Another nod. None of this was making much sense to you, but you listened anyway, as per his clear instruction.

“Do not try to escape. Do not try to leave this room. I _will_ hurt you if you do. And I don’t want to do that. Not yet, anyway.”

“When will you want to hurt me, Master?” You mumbled, cocking your head at him.

He blinked in surprise, his crimson irises darkening at your words.

“Fuck. Don’t ask me things like that either.” He hissed, his grip on your shoulders tightening. “You’re something else.”

Without ever breaking the skin contact, he slid one hand down your arm, lacing your fingers together.

Heading to the door, he held it open, stepping outside with your hand still in his.

“I’ll be back later. Remember what I said, okay? No escaping. And no screaming, either. I’d rather my brothers didn’t wake up.”

“Are you leaving?” You asked.

“Just for a little while.”

“Don’t leave. Stay with me, Master. Let me serve you…”

Changbin broke into an ornery grin, bouncing on his feet with the appeal from your lips.

“I’m tempted, kitty, but I’ve got some things to take care of. Later, yeah?”

And with that, he released his grip on you.

He swung the door closed, the soft clicking from the other side telling you that you were now locked in, his footsteps padding away down the corridor outside.

For several moments, you simply stood still. Frozen in place, waiting for the next instruction from your absent Master.

And then it hit you.

With all the impact of a train striking you down, your chest was fit to burst. A splitting, wrenching thud rang through your head as a result of his departure, and you crashed to your knees with the pain that ripped through you.

You cried out in agony, tears forced to the surface as you clutched at your chest desperately.

You couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t control the way your body was reacting to him, or your compliance with the instructions he’d given you. And you knew why.

The unfathomable pain of your consciousness coming back, regaining control, ridding itself of the toxin that had settled in through his touch. His allure was wearing off.

Because that was how it worked. As powerful as Changbin’s allure appeared to be when it was in effect, he still had to _be_ touching you. He had been the whole way here, since the first moment he’d laid his hands on you in the grandiose entrance hall.

You had no doubt that was why he’d locked you in here. To stop you from running the moment his hold on you waned.

Stumbling to your feet, you fought back the urge to throw up as you settled on the edge of the bed. Steeling yourself and your nerves, you took in your situation.

Firstly, you appeared to be very much locked in. Changbin had secured the door, and taken the key with him. The padlock on the window meant that you weren’t going to be able to open that with force either, and there didn’t appear to be anything in this room that would work as a blunt or sharp instrument on the glass.

Secondly, Changbin had confiscated your belt. You couldn’t be sure when that had happened, but the loss of your weapons and equipment made this much more dangerous. Thankfully, he hadn’t seemed to catch on to your wild rose necklace, which remained securely around your throat. So you could count that a small blessing.

And third, even if you had been left with your weapons, or indeed a key to the window or door, you were in no state to fight. You could barely even stand with the way your body had been debilitated, let alone run.

You weren’t sure this could have gone much worse. About everything that could go wrong, had gone wrong, within minutes of you stepping through the front door, and you wanted to kick yourself.

The direct approach had _definitely_ not paid off.

* * *

##### A gentle aching had replaced the sharp pains that plagued your body, and as you were gradually rousing, a new sense of panic began to creep over you.

You didn’t remember falling asleep. Presumably the exertion of the allure wearing off and the combination of adrenaline you’d experienced had all but knocked you out the moment you’d sat down long enough to give yourself a chance to breathe, and by all accounts, you’d slept for too long.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you rubbed one eye as they began to adjust to the darkness that had settled in. Despite the luxuriant feel the room had held earlier, it was now distinctly unsettling.

A pale, silver moonlight crept through the sheer nets draped over the window, providing the only illumination that allowed you to see. Silence held thick, uninterrupted even when you stood from the plush bed, and the revelation that this hadn’t been some form of sickening dream made your head hurt.

Padding over the carpeted floor, you once again approached the door that appeared to be the only exit from this prison, unsurprised to find it still entirely locked.

With the setting of the sun came a newfound urgency to get out of this place. You knew well enough that vampires could be active during the day. But at night, when the moon shone at its’ highest peak, they simply thrived. Unnatural speed and strength was magnified tenfold, the demons feeling all too at home in the shrouding blackness. It was surely the only reason Changbin hadn’t revisited you yet, as he’d promised he would, and while you were grateful for that, it also meant that you were running out of time.

There had to be something you could do. Must be something…

_… And no screaming, either. I’d rather my brothers didn’t wake up._

Screaming?

Changbin’s earlier words echoed through your mind like the signal you’d been waiting for, and finding yourself hilariously bereft of any other option, you hoped, prayed, that this could be a solution.

If it backfired, you were doomed anyway. What did you have to lose?

So with a deep inhalation of breath, you pressed your hands to the door, grimacing with the searing pain that returned to your abdomen with the effort.

You closed your eyes, as tight as they would allow, holding the breath before you allowed it to escape. In the form of such a prohibited scream.

As loud as you could manage. As piercing as you could make it, hoping that it would penetrate any wall or door that blocked the path between you, and them. Frustrations and anger held rife in the action, and while it wasn’t your intention, you relished in the mild therapy that came with it.

Panting with the aftermath, you tried to catch your breath, before stilling as you listened intently for any sign that you’d been heard.

And there was nothing, at first. Simply the echoes of your lamentation, ringing through the immediate area, bouncing off the walls and seeping into the long unused furniture.

Then the sound of footsteps made your ears prick, the hairs on your arms standing to attention as you recognised them to be anything but a normal pace of walking.

A frantic, rushed sprint, too quick to be a humans’. Too intense to be natural, as they bounded in volume from the distance, approaching your prison within seconds.

You took a step back from the door, stumbling away, eyes wide with fear.

The footsteps ceased, and the faintest illumination of flickering open flame became just visible under the door frame. A shadow of feet held strong in the light, giving you cause to hold your breath.

As the door handle turned, you found yourself clutching at the wild rose pendant around your neck, your only form of protection. Yet the person on the other side seemed to have nowhere near the amount of trouble you’d had with the lock.

A firm crunch snapped the lock and door handle clean in half, its’ existence proving to be entirely irrelevant as it swung open limply before you.

It revealed the figure of a man. Not too tall in stature, yet broad shouldered enough that he appeared able to handle himself. Dressed in all black, combat boots and leather trousers, a sheer black shirt hanging open at mid chest, it revealed a complexion of the purest white. Stark blonde locks swept over his forehead at one side, a single piercing at the tail end of his eyebrow.

Perfectly plump lips concealed the fangs you knew were hidden there. Eyes the darkest of crimson red, they appeared to be ablaze. Perhaps it was the candle he carried, held out in front of him that gave them that effect, but you couldn’t have been sure.

You knew of the beauty of vampires. That it was otherworldly, unnatural in its’ appearance. You _knew_ , that the visage of this man, of this demon, was courtesy of the cold, assumed Class A blood that ran through his veins.

And it was all you could do not to cry before him. Where had your resolve gone? Where was your will to fight?

He took a single step inside, gaze locked to your form as you began to tremble.

His slow, sauntering approach only served to increase your heart rate, the knowledge that he could hear it from where he was standing doing nothing to ease the raw panic building in your chest.

The candle waived dangerously, the gentle, unsteady light spreading to your form as he got closer.

He cocked his head when he got near enough to see you, eyes drifting to the hand pressed at your chest. A small smile that sent your knees weak graced his lips, and you knew you were staring too intensely.

“I wasn’t expecting a visitor today.”

His voice was slick, as smooth as melted butter, just as Changbin’s had been the first time you’d heard him speak. It rendered you breathless, though you were grateful he appeared to have a tad more control than the other, inasmuch as he hadn’t immediately attacked you. So far.

You cleared your throat, straightening yourself as you stood tall enough to meet his gaze.

“I… I’m not a visitor. I’m a prisoner. Let me out of here.” You stammered, gathering all your resolve.

“A prisoner?” He mused, looking around the room, the juxtaposition between your statement and your ‘cell’ not going unnoticed. “And who imprisoned you? One of my brothers?”

You nodded, silently judging the distance between your current position and the door. If you were quick, you might be able to get past him should things go bad. Maybe.

“Changbin…” He muttered, more to himself than to you, and the notion that he even knew who was responsible at all struck you as entirely unsettling, for reasons you couldn’t put your finger on.

“Care to tell me what you’re doing here, other than that?”

“I- I’ll tell you,” you replied, pleased that he seemed to be prepared to listen, “but I want out of this room first. I won’t be locked back in.”

He hummed under his breath, taking another step closer, causing you to back up against the wall behind you.

“And why would I do that? Changbin clearly put you in here for a reason. What was it? Trespassing? Stealing? Getting your rocks off by sneaking into a vampire nest?”

“N- no! He practically invited me in, I walked straight through the front door. And I’m no thief.” You retorted, finding it harder to control your breaths as he now stood no more than a foot away from you.

You didn’t miss the way his expression changed with your apparent lack of surprise at his admission that this was, indeed, a vampire abode. So at least that was out of the way.

“So…? You’re a fear junkie? How did you even know we were here?” He muttered, raising a pierced eyebrow at you.

You had to tell him. There was no hiding it now, and it was the only way you were getting out of this room unscathed. If you were lucky.

“WAHVA sent me.”

You weren’t sure what reaction you’d expected, given as you could only speculate what terms they were on with them. They’d cut off all connection with WAHVA, presumably for internal good reason, and you’d anticipated that your presence could bring challenges all anew depending on what those reasons were.

And if this man’s current behaviour was anything to go by, perhaps the reasons weren’t all that bad to begin with.

His expression was entirely unreadable, though not intimidating. He set the candle down on the vanity table at your side, pulling out the white chair that rested in front of it.

Spinning it deftly in one hand, he placed it in front of you and straddled it backwards, arms crossed over the back of the seat, looking up at you from his position. It seemed far too casual.

“What’s your name?” He asked coolly.

“Y/N…”

“Pretty.” He mused, much the same as Changbin had done. “I’m Chan.”

 _Bang Chan._ The self appointed leader, according to the debrief report. The one you’d hoped to speak to first. This was a good thing, certainly.

“So WAHVA sent you…?”

“Yes…”

He took a deep breath, long fingers coming up to rub his temples. The air in the room seemed to crackle, a tangible feeling of something building to an invisible peak that sent the butterflies in your stomach to flight.

Chan glanced up at you once more, the crimson in his eyes now deeper than before.

“You might want to sit down, Y/N.”

You shook your head, not willing to move from your glued position at the wall. Being here was the best chance you stood of escape, and it seemed imminent to you that _something_ was about to happen. Something that would require an escape.

Chan shrugged, resting his head in his hand with all the nonchalance in the world.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The ethereal beauty of this man was second to none, and while every nerve in your body was screaming at you to stop staring at him, your heart was thanking you for the feast to your eyes.

He didn’t move. Didn’t exert a single amount of effort with the small, sly wink he gave you. It was merely that.

A simple wink.

Yet the subsequent feeling that hit you like a truck, a result of his minor facial expression was utterly consuming. Akin to that of the purest orgasms, your knees buckled and a strangled, choked moan of shock caught in your throat as you fell to the floor.

Your legs began to tremble with the intermittent waves of fire that swept through you, the knot in your core expanding violently as it released with not an ounce of stimulation, not a single ghosting touch. It was too intense, too fast for you to comprehend, and you could do nothing but crumble before him.

“I’ll never get tired of that…” He muttered, watching you with morbid complacency as you writhed around in front of him.

Sweat formed on your brow, the gentle sweepings of post-coital euphoria claiming your bones as you appeared to settle.

“What the _f-_ ”

And then he winked again.

Another searing, devastating orgasm rushed you, stronger than the first. You cried out in borderline pain, the seeping intensity rendering you hopelessly weak as a desperate wetness formed between your legs.

“P- Please, ugh- f- _fuck_ -” You whimpered, unable to form true words.

Violent tremors set in, your thighs quaking as though he were physically touching you, and he could well have been, in that moment.

“What does WAHVA want with us, Y/N?”

You heard the question, yet didn’t have the reasoning to answer. Your mind had been sent blank, any trace of rational thought forced from you with the power of his allure. He was an erosblood, as clear as day.

He stood from his seat, kicking it aside with a single swift motion of his foot. Approaching your trembling side, he lifted your back from the floor, propping you up against the wall. Fingertips beneath your chin, he held eye contact, his crimson irises piercing your own.

“What,” he repeated, “does WAHVA want with us?”

You shook your head weakly, fighting desperately to catch your breath.

“They… They just s- sent me to… reestablish contact. You… You cut them off. They’re worried.”

Chan scoffed gently, mindlessly sweeping the loose strands of hair from your face.

“Worried? Please. I think it’s about time you start telling the truth, don’t you?”

Another wink graced his face, and you couldn’t stop the scream that bubbled in your throat. A third violent orgasm ripped through you anew, white hot pleasure and volcanic heat claiming you as its’ own. You couldn’t breathe, it was simply too much. Unprepared and defenceless, it was all you could do to string a sentence together.

“I- I am t- telling the _fucking_ truth- ugh, my _god_ -”

You weren’t sure what he even wanted to hear, or what he was looking for with this impromptu interrogation, though you couldn’t deny the effectiveness of it. This would be enough to drive the most sane of people mad.

“Spare me the bullshit. You’re telling me your corporate overlords sent you all the way out here for a house call? That’s it? You must think my brothers and I are pretty stupid-”

“That’s all I was t- told! I _swear_! My orders… were to check on you, and get you to contact WAHVA. That’s it… that’s all it is…” You panted, grimacing with the way your muscles had tightened.

You placed a hand to his exposed chest, an action of appeal that you certainly wouldn’t have attempted if you were in your right mind, yet you couldn’t take another second of exposure to his allure. He appeared to tense at the contact, his skin ice cold under your warmth. It was surprisingly pleasant.

“I… don’t know what’s going on,” you breathed, stabilising your voice, “or what 'truth’ you’re looking for. But I’m just a- a freelance Envoy… I do jobs for WAHVA when they need someone… off the record.”

Chan shook his head, an expression of uncertainty crossing his face as he pulled away, your hand dropping from his chest.

When he suddenly stopped.

He angled his head, a sharp motion that registered as though he’d been slapped in the face. His nose twitched, his lips parting as his gaze fell to your neck.

“What… is that scent?” He whispered, leaning closer, closing the distance he’d just created. “I’ve never smelled anything like it…”

You froze instantly, heart drumming helplessly in your chest, both a result of the encroaching fear and the insane pleasure you’d just been subjected to.

“It’s _you_ …” He mumbled again, fingertips grazing the skin of your throat like he was simply admiring a piece of art.

He was so close, so _painfully_ near that you could feel the tangible cold resonating from his body. Eyes glued to your neck, his irises deepening dangerously in their shade as he moved to place his lips to your skin.

“W- Wait, please-” You whimpered, powerless in your current state to stop it.

“Just a taste-”

And as he closed in on the pulsating vein, his perfectly plump lips simply grazing the surface of your skin, he was warded away. As if he’d been physically pushed by someone far stronger than you, he all but hissed in pain as the pendant around your neck did its’ job.

It was a repellent in the strongest sense of the word, the wild rose acting as a natural repulsion to Chan, and indeed, any other vampire. He stumbled back to his knees, hand clamping over his mouth before you spied the fangs that had inevitably protruded.

He quickly stood up, turning away from you, fighting to regain the control he’d lost for just a second. Yet it had been almost a second too long.

You couldn’t stop the tremors, nor the wave of relief that swept over you.

But you also couldn’t understand why he seemed so defeated. So visibly angry, quaking with rage that didn’t appear to be directed at you, much to your surprise.

“You’re coming with me.” He barked, seeming to reclaim his composure.

Too weak to even attempt to fight him, you allowed yourself to be lifted from the floor as he approached you, wrapping a firm arm around your waist.

Holding you to his side, he took you out of the room, starting down the winding corridors and musty hallways that had adopted an eerie atmosphere with the arrival of the night.

“I… I can walk.” You complained, swatting his arm away as you tried to steady yourself on your feet.

Chan raised an eyebrow at your boldness, causing you to quickly avert your gaze before he winked at you again, god forbid.

“Don’t even think about running. You know you don’t stand a chance.” He warned, stalking off down the hallway.

Rolling your eyes in defeat, you followed him as best you could, using the wall as a support when you needed to.

Despite what had just happened, you didn’t find yourself outwardly scared of him. A touch of madness, perhaps, because he was definitely dangerous and there was no question about that. He would undoubtedly catch you if you tried to run, beat you if you tried to fight.

But something about him, call it an innate feeling or a gut response, appeared gentle. Very uncharacteristic of his kind, he seemed to operate a modicum of self control that other vampires simply didn’t believe in, and that inspired trust. Albeit a minuscule amount.

Though your gut had been wrong before, and you weren’t about to hedge your bets on a simple feeling. He was still a vampire, and you, still entirely edible, as you’d just been reminded.

“Through here.” He barked, gesturing to a door at the end of the corridor.

Retrieving a key from his pocket, he quickly unlocked it, ushering you inside before he closed it behind you and locked it once more. It struck you that he obviously cared enough to keep these doors intact, in stark contrast to the room you’d just been held in.

The area you’d stepped into was far brighter, lit by a combination of actual electric lights and open candles. Newer decor lined the walls, no less grand than before in its’ intricate detailing and expensive looking paintings, but definitely looked after with the way the walls and floor length curtains appeared cleaner, distinctly less moth eaten. It smelled fresher, like life had been present here once, and as you wandered down the new corridor with Chan close behind, you noticed how it branched out into a larger room.

The sound of chattering voices could be heard in the distance, growing louder as you approached.

“Wait.” Chan hissed, taking hold of your arm. “When we’re in there, I need you to do as I say. My brothers, they can be… intense. We’re here for one person, then we leave.”

You nodded in understanding, knowing full well how vampires could get in groups.

He turned away from you, but stopped once more as he appeared to remember something.

“One more thing,” he whispered, lowering his voice, “whatever you do, do not take that necklace off. Around any of my brothers. Especially the red head. Got it?”

“Got it…”

You hadn’t intended to take it off anyway, being as it was your only form of defence right now, the only thing that had a chance of stopping an incoming bite to the neck. Chan’s warning only solidified that.

“With me, then.”

He took your hand in his, all but dragging you into the room proper, and your eyes marvelled at the sight.

You were stood on a balcony that swept around the luxuriant room at either side, meeting in the middle to a carpeted staircase down to the first floor. Looking over the railing, there was an unnecessarily large dining table placed right in the centre of the marbled floor, yet only a few chairs surrounding it. It was laden with cups and dried flowers, intricate doily’s placed here and there on the oak surface. Sofas and couches were strewn around the place, cushioned with red velvet and gilded with white wood and gold. It was definitely a living space, and definitely looked lived _in_ , yet the most notable thing in the room, and the first thing to captivate you so, was the stunningly attractive stained glass window.

Nestled in the domed ceiling, looming high above you, it sported colours of crimson red, blue and royal purple, creating a veritable rainbow of natural light that ended in midair, drowned out by the interior lights. You couldn’t quite make out the pattern it offered, yet you almost didn’t need to. You could only imagine how it looked when darkness held inside and the moonlight captured it. It was surely a sight most wonderful.

“Come.”

Brought back down to earth with a startling thud, Chan led you around the balcony, wrist still tight in his grasp.

Approaching the stairs to the first floor, he began to take you down them, only to stop his descent halfway.

And you knew why.

The rest of the clan. Or family, as WAHVA would have it, seemingly materialised from nowhere.

Seven vampires, only one of which you recognised as Changbin, claimed this place as their own. Several of them reclining on the sofas, a few stood around the place or nestled in the corners of the room.

Yet all of them with their blood red eyes, on you.

“Listen up, all of you.” Chan spoke, clear and confident, commanding the attention of every person in the room.

“We have a visitor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	4. Chapter 4

##### “We have a visitor,” Chan announced to all seven of his brothers.

“A visitor?”

A younger looking vampire was the first to speak, his large eyes, dark chocolate hair and round face appearing all too gentle given the danger that lurked beneath.

He sprang from his place on the sofa, and in a split second instant, stood an inch away from you. You must have blinked and missed his movement altogether.

Chan smiled, standing aside as the boy looked at you in ardent wonder.

“But she’s so pretty,” he mused, cocking his head innocently, “does she have to leave after her visit? We should keep her-”

“I’m not for keeping.” You interrupted firmly, causing a pout to cross his face.

“No need to be mean,” he huffed, adopting a beaming grin just as quickly when he outstretched his hand in greeting.

“I’m Jisung.”

Bewildered at the sudden shift in his personality, you took his hand, shaking it and not thinking twice about the way he leaned in to give what you interpreted as a common greeting kiss.

Before Chan intervened, placing a firm stopping hand to Jisung’s chest and a distinct glare that made you want to kick yourself for letting your guard down.

“Not now, Ji. She’s not here to play. And she doesn’t need your love.”

Jisung rolled his eyes, tutting under his breath as he spun away.

“Everyone needs love, Chan. You know that.”

“What the fuck is a human doing here?” Another vampire piped in, this one taller in stature than Jisung.

Hair the most stunning shade of dark blue, his appearance wasn’t unlike that of a fox. Sharp features and a pointed chin, he was so visually striking it took everything in you not to stare. Though you were mostly resigned to that by now.

“I appreciate it’s unexpected,” Chan stated, leading you the rest of the way down the stairs, “but she won’t be here long.”

“Hopefully…” You grumbled under your breath, earning you a warning glare from Chan.

“Hey!” A different vampire shouted, and this one you recognised as your earlier captor.

He bounded up from his reclining position on one of the sofas, sauntering over to you without a care in the world.

“This one’s mine. I put her in that room for a damn reason.” He snarled, reaching out to take your hand before Chan deftly swatted it away.

“She’s not _yours_.” He hissed, his tone lower than before. “What the fuck were you thinking? We try too hard to keep a low profile as it is, yet you decide it’s a good idea to take a hostage? A slave? Don’t even get me started on how you just let her in here, no question. You’re a class act, really. Fuck off.”

Changbin sneered at the obvious elder, clicking his tongue in annoyance. He spared you another laving glance before he gave up the ghost, obviously knowing better than to challenge this.

You couldn’t help the surge of protective pride that swelled inside you, though you quickly fought to battle it down. You were _not_ about to start swooning over a vampire. He had his own motivations for doing what he just did, not a one of them involving your wellbeing.

“Is Seungmin here?” Chan called, looking around as he changed the subject.

A questioning hum resounded from the corner of the room, another vampire emerging into the light proper.

You were unsurprised to see that he was just as drop dead gorgeous as all the others, his feline eyes and the crimson held in them all the more intimidating with the way his gaze glossed over you, from top to toe. He simply seemed so… uninterested.

“Good. We need you.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes, slapping the book closed that he’d been holding between his fingertips as he moved over to the large dining table.

“So she’s a liar as well as a criminal? Brave one to trespass.” He remarked, gesturing for you to sit down at it.

“I haven’t lied about anything. And my rap sheet is as clean as they come, thanks.”

Chan smirked subtly, dragging you over to Seungmin’s position.

“We’ll see about that. Sit down.” He barked.

You weren’t given much of a choice as Chan’s hands firm on your shoulders plopped you on the lavish dining chair, holding you in place. Seungmin pulled out a second chair, settling in front of you before he leaned forwards on his knees.

The eye contact was immediate, and just as intense as you’d predicted. Vampires, by their very nature, were all but mesmerising to the mind of a human. Crimson eyes being one of the things about them that held such a pull that you couldn’t help but stare, drowning in the way they would shimmer and deepen in shade with a mind all their own.

“What am I asking her?” Seungmin muttered, never moving his gaze from yours, though he was speaking only to Chan.

“Ask her what WAHVA wants with us. Why they sent her.”

Seungmin immediately snapped his head up at the mere mention of the Company, a look of disbelief crossing his features as well as other generic sounds of complaint from the other surrounding vampires.

“Are you joking? She’s with them?”

“So she says. Seungmin please,” he soothed, keeping his hands on your shoulders, “just do it.”

“Can you stop talking about me like I’m not here?” You interrupted, mildly annoyed by the way they were taking away your admittedly limited choices. “Ask me what you want to know, I’ll tell the goddamn truth. I already have. I have nothing to hide.”

You felt the way Chan’s hands tensed just enough to get you to shut your mouth, and you knew it was another warning. But you weren’t about to let these vampires throw a spanner in the works of your job. Because that was what this was. A _job_. One you still had to get finished, and that appeared to be taking much longer than you’d have liked.

“Fine.” Seungmin sighed, holding his hand out to you. “Take my hand.”

You swallowed with the way your mouth had run dry, tentatively reaching out to touch him. The shakes that set in were entirely involuntary, and you supposed it was futile to try and fight them. Yet you’d maintain your facade of togetherness to the end.

“Get on with it.”

Closing the distance between you, and clearly annoyed with your hesitation, Seungmin quickly took hold of you. He placed his palm over yours, the ice cold of his skin sending tingles up your arm.

And the subsequent feeling that washed over you as he reconnected your eyes, was mind numbing. The reason for Chan’s supportive hold on your shoulders became immediately apparent as you were rendered almost drunk, swaying on the spot. Your mind hazed, vision blurring with the effect of his touch.

“What’s her name?” Seungmin asked, never breaking the contact.

“Y/N.” Chan replied, keeping you steady.

“Y/N,” he spoke, his voice a soothing lilt, “can you tell me why WAHVA sent you?”

You nodded slowly, finding no reason to lie. You didn’t want to lie. Why would you ever lie to him? There was no reason to lie.

“They… sent me to reestablish contact with this family.”

Seungmin nodded, though you could only make out the flickering crimson of his irises. The rest was but a mirage.

“Why do they want contact with us?” He asked.

“Standard WAHVA procedure dictates… that all vampire families… must stay in contact with their Envoy to uphold the contract. You cut off contact with your Envoy. You are… in breach of the terms.” You mumbled, words fleeting from your tongue without any incentive from your brain.

“Is that the only reason?”

“Y- Yes…”

He cocked his head, thumb absently caressing the skin of your hand.

“Chan, she’s telling the truth-”

“Ask her what the contract is. If she’s really WAHVA, she’ll know.” Chan interrupted, seemingly unimpressed with the answers you were giving, though it was indeed the truth he’d been looking for, and he could no longer contest that.

Seungmin sighed quietly, once again returning his focus to you.

“Y/N, what is the contract WAHVA uses? The one for vampire clans?”

You blinked slowly, breathing too gently under the influence of his drug inducing allure.

“The contract… is an agreement. Between a vampire family… and the Company. It offers the vampires… protection. The opportunity to… to volunteer and help humans understand their… allures. Gives them… rights to freedom and life. It keeps them s- safe.”

Seungmin shrugged in response to the innocent reply, Chan’s attempt to catch you out falling utterly short. He pursed his lips as he spared a quick questioning glance up at Chan.

You could no longer be sure why they were asking you these questions. You knew there’d been a purpose to it initially, but that had long since been lost on you. Everything was veiled in a cloud of fog that only grew denser the longer Seungmin touched you.

“Ask her who she is. She said she was freelance, but we need to be sure-”

“Aren’t you guys done yet? She’s not looking so hot,” another vampire chimed in, his hair shoulder length and soft blonde in colour.

“Shut it, Hyunjin. She’s fine.” Chan growled, glaring back at the boy. “Ask her, Seungmin.”

“Alright, but this is the last.”

Your lids grew heavy with the drowsiness that played at the edges of your consciousness, nothing they were saying registering with you at any level.

“Y/N, tell me who you are.”

“I… I’m…”

The words teetered on your tongue, bubbling up from the back of your throat at his behest.

You wanted to tell him. You _had_ to, for the sake of your sanity.

Yet you’d been pushed to your limits with how much you could take. Any mental capacity had been thrashed from you, your body having been exposed to too much, too quickly. A normal person wouldn’t have had the will to withstand even one allure, yet you’d been subjected to three in the space of barely a day.

“I…”

Nothing. No energy or ability to keep yourself together as you trailed off to silence.

The last thing you heard was the calling of your name. A soft landing in the form of arms around your body as you fell from the chair, the strength in your bones evaporating.

And a welcome, all-consuming blackness.

* * *

##### Your dreams had been plagued with crimson.

Visions of blood red eyes and the tangible smell of iron. Mirages of things that _could_ have been beautiful, yet a sense of lingering danger and sheer fright had overridden any pleasure that might have been found from looking upon the faces you saw behind your eyes.

It had left you with a splitting headache, the moment your consciousness had claimed enough of you to rouse you from sleep.

You didn’t recognise your immediate surroundings. Couldn’t place where you were, though it didn’t take long for the unsettling dread to creep in.

Soft cotton pillows and sleek satin sheets enveloped you, providing a stark contrast of warmth to the cold appearance of the room. Old bookcases and books that appeared older still were strewn about the place, empty bottles of something long drained littered around. An acoustic guitar sat in the corner, and it was just about the only thing in this place that looked even remotely cared for. Everything was bathed in a cool, pale moonlight, visible dust particles dancing in the rays that beamed through the floor length bay window. It looked out to an overgrown courtyard, and a single plush armchair was placed in front of it. Clearly someone’s favourite viewing spot.

You winced as the pain to your head grew sharper, a resulting groan escaping your lips. It only grew worse as you tried to remember what had happened, or get a sense of how long you’d slept for.

“You’re awake.”

A voice from the darkest corner of the room caused you to jump in fright, sending another thud of pain through your temples.

Chan stepped into the dim light, his features appearing even more unreal than the first time you’d seen him. Still clad in black, his pure white complexion appeared almost translucent in the glow of the moon’s light. Yet the crimson to his eyes was as clear as ever, reminding you, once again, that this beauty wasn’t a natural thing.

It was anything but.

“Where… am I?” You muttered, your voice a rasp at best.

“My room.”

“Your… room?” You repeated, the intonation of being alone in a vampire’s habitat not lost on you.

He hummed in response, approaching you carefully.

“Do you remember what happened?” He asked, stopping at the foot of the bed, hands in the pockets of his leather trousers.

You tried to think back, putting far too much effort into it, grimacing with the ache it resulted in.

“Not really… Just walking into that big hall with your brothers.”

Chan nodded, seeming sullen at your answer.

“Seungmin,” he began, checking for any sign of recognition in you as he spoke, “he used his allure. Coaxed the truth out of you. It’s a form of confession inducement, but you were exposed too long.”

Vague images of Seugmin’s hand on yours crept around the edges of your memories, Chan’s words acting as a gentle reminder.

“That’s right… You grilled me.” You sighed, rubbing at your temples.

“You passed out. I brought you here.”

You looked around once more, finding a strange comfort in the knowledge that Chan had been the one to put you to bed. Even moreso in the fact that you appeared to be entirely unscathed, despite your blatant vulnerability when you were unconscious. That would have been too perfect an opportunity for any other vampire to pass up.

So why hadn’t he taken it?

A panicked bell sounded off internally, a churning to your gut as you were suddenly reminded of something important, and your hand flew to your chest. An audible sigh of relief escaped you as you felt the cold metal of the wild rose pendant under your fingertips. Right where it was supposed to be.

Chan gave a quiet scoff of disbelief, yet didn’t make a comment. You wondered why.

“How long was I out?”

He shrugged, wandering over to the bay window.

“Twenty four hours, more or less. Can’t be sure exactly.”

“Shit, a whole day?” You exclaimed, throwing off the sheets as you swung your legs to the edge of the bed. “Listen, I want my things back. My belt, _with_ the weapons. And my phone. Your brother, he took them from me when I got here.”

“I can’t do that.”

You shot him a glare, piercing daggers into his back as you stood from the bed, wobbling on your feet before you steadied yourself.

“Those things aren’t yours to keep. Give them back.”

“I can’t, Y/N.” He repeated, his tone deadpan.

“Why not?” You groaned, sweeping your hand through your hair. “I’m not still a prisoner here, I mean… you’re letting me go, aren’t you?”

Chan spared a glance over his shoulder, just enough for you to make out the expression on his face. The expression that told you you were wrong.

You were far from free.

“This is ridiculous, you got what you wanted! I told you the truth, didn’t I?! You know I wasn’t lying about being here for WAHVA! So you’ll contact them, and I’m free to go, right? Job done… right?!” You protested, taking a single step closer to him.

He pursed his lips, crimson eyes glossing over the horizon of the courtyard through the water stained window.

“It isn’t as easy as that.”

You resisted the urge to scream at him, fearful that your throat wouldn’t be able to take the effort.

“Why isn’t it that easy, Chan?”

The mention of his name slipping through your lips must have took him by surprise with the way he whipped his head around to you, and for a moment, he looked almost sad. Yet the look was gone as quickly as it arrived, his composure taking over within seconds.

“We don’t want any part of WAHVA’s contracts anymore, or their protection schemes. We can fend for ourselves.” He stated.

“Fine,” you groaned, throwing your hands to the air, “so tell them that. Why does that mean you can’t let me go?”

“I hate to burst the bubble on your perfect world, princess,” he barked, finally turning to face you properly, “but WAHVA don’t take kindly to vampires refusing their ‘services’. You’ve never noticed what happens to the clans they can’t keep?”

You shook your head, jaw agape in disbelief.

“They disappear. Vanish. Don’t leave behind a trace. I imagine they deem us too unpredictable to be left alone. I mean, we’re nothing but mindless animals, right?”

If the chip on his shoulder hadn’t made itself apparent before, it certainly had now.

“If you go back to WAHVA, like the perfect little lackey you are, and tell them we don’t want anything to do with them, we’re next on their shit list. And we could do without the grief.” He hissed.

Disappeared? Vanished? None of what he was saying was making any sense, and the implication that the Company was somehow responsible for these 'disappearances’ you’d never heard of until now struck you as nothing but ridiculous.

“You’re wrong. That’s insane. WAHVA protects your kind, they make sure you’re-”

“Protects?!” Chan scoffed, taking a step closer to you. “Those fucking people are the only reason _my kind_ still lives in fear. If WAHVA hadn’t been created, hadn’t started training people to withstand our allures and kill us… It wouldn’t be us on the brink of extinction. We’d have wiped out every last one of the humans that came for us when all this shit started.”

“You mean after V Day? Chan, that was an all out war. Just as many of us died, the casualties were horrific on both sides.”

Your reasoning fell on deaf ears as Chan tensed, the anger clearly visible in him.

“A war that _humans_ started. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but the war didn’t end for us. It never will.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a tad dramatic?”

“No,” he snapped, his brow furrowing with anger. “I don’t. You people hunted us down, because you were afraid. Afraid of the things you didn’t understand, and still don’t. Not all of us kill to keep ourselves fed, Y/N. We can control it. Hunt animals, or drink only from those that volunteer. A minority of vampires get drunk with blood lust and it condemns us all? Tell me how that’s even remotely right.”

You could do nothing but gawp at him. This was the first time you’d heard any kind of exposition from a vampire, having never been in the company of one long enough to get the chance. Because the ones you’d encountered so far were the ones Chan was talking about. The minority, as he so claimed.

“Listen, it’s not that I don’t agree with you. But don’t you think you’re doing the same thing? Not all humans want vampires dead-”

“Maybe not. But WAHVA does. They want us on side, or out of the way. There is no in between.”

“Out of the way? Chan, listen to yourself! Don’t you think the world would know if WAHVA was really responsible for those things? That _someone_ would have spoken out against them by now?” You questioned, arms falling to your sides.

He half-laughed under his breath in exasperation, taking another step towards you.

“You’re really that naive, aren’t you? Don’t underestimate the power of corporate influence, Y/N.”

“It’s not being naive. I just think you’ve got this wrong. All we want is safety-”

“Because you’re the only ones that want safety, right?” He exclaimed, losing his composure further by the second. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to live under the point of a knife? To look over your shoulder night after night, always under threat of an attack from fuck knows where?”

The pain in his voice was notable, yet you couldn’t get a word in edgewise with the way he seemed to be cathartically dropping one bomb after another.

“We’ve never been able to settle for as long as we have here. The second the locals get a whiff of us, we’re chased out. I have come _dangerously_ close to losing my brothers, more than once. I refuse to let it happen again.”

“Well you all look like you can handle yourselves. I can’t see a band of civilians doing too much damage to you.” You retorted, crossing your arms over your chest.

Chan cocked his head, approaching you closer still. One languid step at a time, it wasn’t unlike a predator realising the vulnerability of their prey.

“It’s not damage to _us_ I’m worried about. Or not of the physical kind, anyway. There are others ways to lose oneself, Y/N. Terrible, terrible ways.”

You swallowed with the implication, averting your gaze from him for a moment.

“We _can_ handle ourselves. We always will, because we’re the only ones we can trust. So we will refuse help. We’ll tear up the fucking contracts. From you, WAHVA, and anyone else, in any form it comes in.”

His tone had dropped with his approach, and you took a step back instinctively, the sudden recollection that he was still entirely dangerous striking you with his proximity. It was almost too easy to forget what threat he posed with that display of emotion from him.

“They… know I’m here.” You stammered, doing everything you could to avoid looking into his eyes, as tantalising as they were. “They’ll send someone for me.”

It was a panicked tactic at best, and one you knew to be futile. Chan simply hummed in response, closing the little distance between you as your knees hit the edge of the bed. They buckled with the contact, causing you to fall to it softly as he remained stood before you.

“Didn’t you say you were freelance?” He crooned, fingertips outstretched as they connected carefully with your chin. “I’d say that makes you expendable, princess.”

You swallowed hard, knowing full well he was right as you kept your wavering gaze fixed to his chest.

“L- Look, if you let me go, I’ll feed WAHVA some bullshit, anything to make sure they leave you and your clan alone. Just let me think of something, I-”

“Save it.” He interrupted, tilting your head up. “We don’t know you. Have even less of a reason to trust you. This is our home, and we’re tired of moving around. Which we’ll have to if we release you.”

You closed your eyes tightly, unsure of the next thing that was coming. Unprepared for the effect he was having on you, which was nothing short of a helpless weakening.

“Look at me, Y/N.”

His voice was a silken muttering, sending butterflies in your stomach to flight.

It was a simple command, but one that you couldn’t deny. You supposed you didn’t have it in you to deny him anything, had he asked for it in that moment. Because the latent fear he instilled was nowhere near as powerful as the innate attraction that took your breath away every time you looked upon him.

You slid your eyes open, lips parting as his encroaching lean pushed you back to the bed.

The ice cold of his skin radiated through his clothes, everything about him so frosty on the surface. Yet his eyes were alight, blazing pools of the deepest red that were focused entirely on you.

His weight dipped into the mattress, his arms settling either side of you. Yet your bodies never touched. Your chest heaved with your laboured breaths, every nerve in your body screaming something different.

“It appears to me, that our options are quite simple.”

He licked his bottom lip carefully, taking it between his teeth for a brief second. As if imagining how delicious you’d be when you were this close.

“You’ll stay,” he whispered, “for as long as we deem necessary. The others have strict instructions not to harm you. They are not to use their allures on you, either. I think we’ve learned that your tolerance for them is spent by now.”

“You c- can’t keep me here-”

“I can,” he purred, holding your gaze intently, “and I will. You knew the dangers when you walked in here.”

You did. You’d known that this could go badly, and as much as you thought you were prepared for it, you’d been woefully wrong.

He leaned in carefully, lids sliding closed as he hovered above the skin of your neck, yet not close enough to spark the effects of your pendant. It appeared that past mistakes had taught him a lesson, at least. A deep inhalation of your throat made him hum softly, a sound of pure appreciation.

“Funny how fear makes you smell all the sweeter…”

You wanted to damn your body for the goosebumps he raised across your skin, and your blood for this scent you seemed to hold. At least you knew now why the blood grenades you’d concocted appeared to be so inexplicably effective.

Yet he pulled away at the last moment, just as he’d done before.

He stood quickly, turning away and heading for the door without sparing you a second glance. Leaving you, breathless and flushed, splayed out on the bed, the imprints of his hands still clear in the sheets.

“And just so we’re clear,” he stated, “I’m not responsible for the things my brothers get up to. All the same, I wouldn’t advise testing them. Don’t do anything stupid, and we’ll get along just fine.”

You sat up from the bed, fingers curling to the sheets with frustration. There had to be something you could do. A way to convince him to let you go.

“Chan?” You called, your voice a rasp.

He glanced over his shoulder, hand poised over the doorknob, his white blonde locks falling over his eyes.

“Are you really going to leave me defenceless? What if one of the others tries to…”

You trailed off, unable to say the words. You both knew the worst of what could happen, and that it was a very real possibility. You were a mouse trapped in a nest of vipers, unarmed and incapable of fighting back.

“That won’t happen. You’ll be safe. I… I’ll protect you.”

And with that, he was gone.

Deathly silence settled in with his departure, his words ringing in your ears as he padded away down the corridor.

A breath of tension escaped you, and on the surface, you’d have feigned doubt at his promise of protection.

But somehow, something deep down inside you sparked. The smallest feeling of unfathomable trust for someone who very clearly hadn’t earned it. He was your captor, of that there was no question.

Even so, this sensation of warmth, a gentle embrace that beckoned you to drop your guard with him, was entirely unexpected. It could have been a result of his display of self control, for twice now he’d resisted the urge to sink his teeth into you, despite being so physically close.

That was more than you could say for the other vampires you’d come across.

Perhaps you could grow accustomed to a life with vampires. You knew it was unwarranted, and definitely foolish on every conceivable level.

Yet you considered that a life of darkness and essential seclusion might not be so bad, for as long as he was around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	5. Chapter 5

##### There’d been points in your life, periods of time where you’d had to remind yourself of the positive things.

The things that you were grateful for, and that by comparison, others less fortunate than yourself didn’t have. You’d make a mental list and count yourself lucky that you, for instance, had a roof over your head. A warm place to sleep. Access to clean water, food and a hot shower, fresh clothes and the ability to make sure you could provide those things for yourself at all.

You’d do that, and you’d feel better. When the sense of happiness waned and discontent set in, it did you good to look at the things around you and acknowledge that you were objectively better off than some.

But as you sat in your newly assigned room, surrounded on all sides by unfamiliar walls and neglected ornaments, you found yourself struggling to do just that. And it was only getting harder with the passing days.

The blessings appeared to be running desperately dry, as was the outlook of positivity, and you didn’t think you could be blamed for that.

Chan had shown you to a room at the other side of the vampire estate, an entirely separate wing on the highest floors, tucked away from the rest of the clan. Your new home, for an undetermined amount of time.

The seclusion was for your protection, he’d said, though you doubted there was much he could really do if any one of his brothers took to your scent particularly fiercely. And there was every chance that could happen.

Standing from the singular armchair in the room, you wandered absently over to the large bay window. The sun had just begun to rise, painting the sky a plethora of orange and pink hues, the white clouds acting as a soft interruption to the display here and there. The forest that encapsulated this place spanned on as far as you could see, not another building nor any signs of life present under the tight canopy of trees. It was isolation in the strictest sense of the word, yet not isolation that you’d chosen.

You unhooked the latch on the window, pushing it open with one arm as the cool morning breeze flooded your room, whipping away the musky smell of simple age that had embedded itself to everything here. It was desperately refreshing, the faint scent of nature bringing clarity to your senses, offering a moment of silence that was filled with peace rather than the dread you’d become used to.

Count the positives. The good things. You could certainly try.

You did, for all intents and purposes, have a roof over your head. Yes, it was coated in mildew and desperately cold, but you could forgive the neglect. Perhaps even make it your own, with enough time and the right will. You had a warm place to sleep, and it was about the only thing in the room that was remotely cared for. Fresh cotton sheets, satin throws and goose feather pillows tempted a restful nights’ sleep. If you could silence the panic long enough to welcome it. The contrast of the rest of the time worn furniture to the lavish decor of the walls was head spinning, but again, you could change that. This room _could_ be beautiful again.

And most importantly, you were in one piece. All your limbs and necessities remained very much attached to you, and given present company, that in itself was a blessing. You’d made your peace, as best you could, with the fact that you weren’t going to be released at any point in the near future.

As for the rest of it, you weren’t sure. Clean clothes, food, a hot shower and other basic comforts were something you didn’t imagine vampires could accommodate for, and you certainly weren’t about to ask Changbin if he’d mind a raid on his wardrobe.

There were things you were going to need. Human things. Things that if you didn’t get, would contribute to your demise anyway.

And so your first attempt to ‘settle in’ was presented.

* * *

##### Chan had reiterated you weren’t a prisoner here.

He’d made it clear that the mansion was yours to explore and wander around as you wished. It had been a surprise, admittedly, but you supposed his confidence and preparedness to let you loose in the confines of the mansion could be attested to his belief in your lack of ability to escape. You weren’t sure if that should have offended you, but it did nonetheless.

He simply had one condition. You were to stay away from the East Wing, which was home to him and his brothers, and honestly, that suited you down to the ground.

The more separation the better.

Yet there were inevitably shared living spaces. A kitchen that had gone long unused, as you’d discovered during one such exploration into the depths of the estate. Dust and cobwebs claimed the place, the cupboards utterly barren and fridges long since dead. Steel silver worktops littered with crusted pots and pans, blunt knives and the most ancient looking appliances you’d ever seen. It was in desperate need of a refurbish.

Traditional games rooms and drawing rooms, even a long abandoned library nestled away in the labyrinthine corridors. It hadn’t taken you long to work out that when Chan said the East Wing was their home, he really meant it. You doubted any of them had ever even set foot in these places, quite content for the majority of the estate to remain in dusted darkness while they stayed to their own. It seemed a tragic waste, to you.

And the large domed living room, the apparent central hub of the mansion. The place Chan had introduced you to the rest of his family, and admittedly, your favourite place so far. The stained glass ceiling had you marvelling once again as you wandered inside it, neck craning back to take in the view from down on the first floor.

Yet as you meandered inside, awestruck all over again, you hadn’t noticed that you weren’t alone.

“Well, what do we have here?”

The voice shocked you from your minor trance, your eyes darting around the room as you tried to identify the source.

“Up here, princess.”

Following the sound, you glanced up to the balcony, greeted by the sight of one of the most ethereal looking beings you’d ever had the pleasure of setting eyes on.

You hadn’t noticed him, back when you’d first met them all. You wondered how.

In fact, this had been the first time you’d run into him. Your expeditions around the mansion meant that you’d bumped into almost all of the others at some point or another, and though your interactions were limited, you at least knew them all by name now.

All except him.

Fiery red hair and a sharp bridge to his nose, plump lips caught in a brazen smirk. His crimson eyes focused on you from above, yet even from here, you could see how ablaze they were. He leaned nonchalantly over the balcony rail, the silk shirt he was wearing falling open at the chest, exposing just enough of the caramel toned skin underneath. Smooth and apparently firm, the simple sight made your mouth water.

“You must be the stray we picked up.” He smiled, cocking his head at you in wonder.

“You mean the _prisoner_ you took.” You retorted, crossing your arms over your chest.

He laughed under his breath, resting his chin on the palm of his hand.

“Sure. Prisoner. Though the way I hear it, you walked straight in here, right? Pretty stupid if you ask me.”

“Good thing I didn’t ask you then.” You smiled in pure mockery as you began to walk away from him.

When a sharp gust of wind and an invisible force sweeping beside you almost knocked you from your feet. You steadied yourself, stopping abruptly as the vampire appeared before you. Between you, and the door, more specifically.

“You’ve got guts,” he stated, as if you hadn’t just been trying to leave the room, “I like that.”

You rolled your eyes as you went to side step him, unsurprised when he dodged straight into your path.

“Are you always so rude to people you’ve just met?”

“Rude?!” You scoffed, glaring up at him. “You just called me stupid. I’d say that’s pretty damn insulting.”

He held his hands up in defence, a teasing smile on his lips.

“Fine, perhaps we got off on the wrong foot then. I’m Minho. Second eldest of the family. First most handsome.”

Ah. You’d heard mention of his name from the others, though now you had a face to put to it. Given that he was the only red headed vampire you’d met, you also assumed him to be the one you shouldn’t take your necklace off around, according to Chan. Not that you’d intended to anyway.

He was a smooth talker, undoubtedly. Something about him, from the way he was dressed in the fitted silk shirt and the tight leather trousers, to his near instant over-familiarity was admittedly charming. He carried himself with a confidence that you could only strive for, and while that wasn’t unusual for vampires, his definitely held a certain je ne sais quoi.

Minho outstretched his hand to you in greeting, and if experience had taught you anything by now, it was never to take the hand of a vampire.

And he clearly noticed your hesitation.

“It’s just a hand, kitten. I won’t bite.” He beckoned.

You rolled your eyes once more at the painful cliché, taking his hand despite your doubts. He shook it carefully, and just as Chan, he was ice cold to the touch. Long, lean fingers wrapped around your much smaller ones, and you had to suppress the urge to keep your hand there.

“Not unless you want me to, anyway.”

“Ugh, please-” You grimaced, pulling your hand from his, the minor infatuation cut abruptly short with his suggestion.

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” He asked, dismissing your apparent disgust.

You shoved your hand to your pocket, ignoring the tingling that had set into your skin. That was definitely new.

“Y/N. I’m Y/N…”

He hummed in response, and while you half expected him to tell you what a pretty name it was, just as the others had done, he didn’t. He simply nodded in knowing, eyes dragging over you from top to toe.

“What are you doing out here anyway, Y/N? Looking for something?” He mused.

The mention of your name through his lips sent your core tingling, and you knew it was utterly ridiculous. Yet it was also very much involuntary.

“I… I was trying to find Chan. Is he around?”

“No…” Minho replied, shaking his head as he continued to look you over. “He’s hunting.”

“H- Hunting…?”

Minho nodded once again, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he caught your inflection of surprise.

“We have to feed somehow, sweetheart. We’re growing men. Or… men, anyway.”

“S- Sure,” you replied, not missing the mild self-deprecation from him, “you guys feed from animals though, right?”

He sighed under his breath, his eyes darkening a shade.

“We do. For the moment. Though if I had my way, I’d be out looking for a blood volunteer right about now. Anything other than human blood isn’t too good for us.”

“So why don’t you just get a volunteer?” You asked, a genuinely innocent question.

He cocked his head, lip catching between his teeth as he seemed to be in disbelief of your stupidity.

“Chan’s call. He says getting hold of one is too risky right now. _He_ says, that you and your company are a threat to us. Blood volunteers are illegal, remember? He thinks you’ll stitch us up the first chance you get.”

You shook your head too quickly, and immediately questioned why.

Technically, the presence of a blood volunteer anywhere near this place or these vampires would have called you to do your job. You should, in theory, report it straight away. Blood volunteers were illegal by WAHVA’s ruling, mainly due to the lack of control and untimely deaths it resulted in when it operated unsupervised. That’s why the designated blood banks were put in place. Like morbid grocery stores for vampires, but at least they were regulated.

And now you had it on clear confirmation that they did use them. That alone would have been enough to instigate an investigation of some kind. Admittedly, your current position didn’t allow for that, but even if it had, you found yourself remiss to report it at all.

Which was unlike you in every sense.

“The animal blood will sustain us for a while. Doesn’t do anything for my complexion, though.” He remarked, seemingly trying to put a lighter spin on things.

“Doesn’t… that make you sick, though?” You questioned, your limited knowledge of vampire anatomy showing.

He nodded in response, waving off the comment with a shrug.

“We’ll survive it. Always do. And the second you’re out of here, I intend to gorge myself silly.”

You almost felt bad that they were having to suffer a loss because of your simple presence. You hadn’t known it was such a detriment.

But again, you were sure they could survive it. Just as Minho said, they’d evidently been through worse than an imposed diet.

“Well, look,” you sighed, sweeping your hand through your hair, “speaking of feeding, I also need to do that. But you guys have nothing here. No food, no shower, and I-”

“Shower?” Minho interrupted, a quizzical look on his face. “Didn’t Chan give you the en-suite?”

“En-what?”

Minho rolled his eyes, cursing something out under his breath that you couldn’t quite make out.

“I’ll show you where the shower is. It’s in our wing though, we couldn’t get the rest of the place up and running when we moved in.”

“You mean took over?” You pointed out.

“Sure, took over. Whatever. Do you want to know where it is or not?” He quipped.

You nodded in response, a helpless smile crossing your lips. Minho blinked for a moment, his thick black lashes grazing the tops of his cheeks as he simply stared. And just as quickly, he snapped back, clearing his throat.

“And the food… I’ll, uh, send Jisung and Felix to get you stuff. You’ll have to write them a list though, I wouldn’t trust those guys to get what you need. Unless you want to live off chocolate.”

You almost couldn’t believe how helpful he was being. First impressions made him look like he’d be a nightmare to deal with, but on the contrary, he was nothing but pleasant.

“Thank you…” You muttered, gaze fixed to the floor. The subtle flush to your cheeks was another thing you wanted to damn your body for, though you couldn’t do it here.

“Yeah… Don’t worry about it.”

He turned on his heel, glancing back over his shoulder as he began to walk away.

“W- Wait!” you called, starting after him. “Clothes. I need my clothes.”

“Can’t you just borrow ours?”

“No. No way. I want my own stuff. This is the only other thing I’ll ask for. And… it’s not just clothes. Personal things, too.” You retorted.

“Personal?” He shot back, raising an eyebrow as he turned to face you.

You shifted on your feet, not sure how to respond to him.

“Uh, w- well… You know. _Personal_ things. W- Woman things?”

A look of knowing crossed his face, accompanied with a resounding sound of realisation that you thanked god for. You didn’t want to have to get specific if you could help it.

“Could you send someone to get that for me, too? Please?” You pleaded.

“And how do you suppose we’re going to manage that?” He laughed, hands in his pockets. “I assume all this stuff is at your place?”

Damn. You’d forgotten. Vampires and their pesky limitations with homesteads.

“Shit.”

“Shit, indeed.”

The two of you stood in silence for a brief moment, the cogs turning on both sides as you racked your brains to think of a way to get around this.

Though you both knew that there was none.

“Look…” Minho eventually sighed, lowering his voice, “I’ll take you. Get you there, we’ll be in and out in no time. But we’ll have to be quick. If Chan hears about this, he’ll stake me himself.”

“Really?!” You asked, latent happiness present in your tone.

“Y- Yeah. But don’t get any ideas. You’re glued to me. Got it?”

You nodded desperately, bouncing on your feet with the excitement of actually getting to leave.

In actuality, any thoughts of escape were the furthest thing from your mind. You knew you didn’t stand a single chance of getting away from Minho, especially without your weapons, and so instead, it was simply something to look forward to. An unprecedented outing with a vampire.

“With me, then.” He grinned, gesturing for you to follow him.

Minho was surely something else.

* * *

##### The grand escape from the vampire estate had been nothing short of the most thrilling thing you’d done all year.

With Minho’s guidance, you’d snuck into the garage and had your eyes blown wide open by the array of luxury sports cars and convertibles. It was almost ridiculous how many they had, and how utterly pristine they looked. You wondered if they’d ever even been used.

Yet Minho’s choice was much more fitting for the adrenaline junkie you’d been known to be.

A Harley-Davidson low rider motorcycle, billiard red on the chassis and glaring silver for the interior works. It was a feast for the eyes, a beautiful thing that you simply couldn’t wait to get between your legs.

And it hadn’t disappointed. Minho had thrown you a helmet, checking three times to ensure it was secure enough before he clambered on, pulling you with him. Arms tight around his lithe waist, your cheek to his broad back, you were accosted with the scent of subtle cinnamon he emanated, and the refreshing breeze that 80mph kicks up, your hair whipping around you with a will of its’ own.

It had truly been the ride of your life.

And now, stood outside your apartment, you felt as though you hadn’t seen this place in years. Though strictly, it had only been several days.

“This is the place?” Minho asked, leather jacket taut around his shoulders.

You nodded, craning to your tiptoes as you reached above the nook of the door frame. A sigh of relief escaped you as your fingers felt the tiny front door key you had stashed there, and you quickly unlocked the door, stepping inside.

It was exactly how you’d left it.

Your beloved studio apartment, unkempt and lived in. But it was yours.

Your clothes remained strewn over the unmade bed, bottles of liquor you didn’t remember drinking littered over the surfaces of your furniture here and there. The furniture you’d put together yourself, and some of them, quite literally. You’d taken to construction and recycling materials when you’d seen someone else do it on television, and your results had been much better than theirs, if you did say so yourself. Tables and a few stools had been all you’d managed so far, but it was still something to be proud of.

Wandering inside, you were about to make a beeline for your wardrobe, when a cough echoed from behind you.

Minho, stood impatiently outside. A look of exasperation on his face as he leaned against the door frame, watching you intently.

“Aren’t you gonna invite me in?” He sighed, this obviously not being the first time he’d had to ask that.

“Fuck no.” You retorted, shaking your head. “You think I don’t know that invitation holds forever?”

He rolled his eyes, groaning under his breath.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. You really think I’m gonna turn up at this shithole unannounced one day? Not a chance. Just let me in.”

“Shithole?!” You scoffed, glaring back at him. “Now who’s being rude?”

You turned away from him, heading to your wardrobe as you left him to his own devices.

Throwing open the doors, you immediately went about shoving everything you owned into an open suitcase on the floor, not paying too much attention or care to how it was landing. Speed was of the essence here.

“I can’t believe this is happening…” You grumbled, loathe to the fact that you were packing everything you had to your name to go and stay with vampires. The whole concept was utterly ridiculous.

“Can’t believe what’s happening?” Minho called from the door.

“That I’m abandoning this place. For a clan of vampires. It’s insane.” You called back.

“Yeah, well… Life throws us curve balls sometimes.”

You scoffed under your breath, very aware that the only curve ball you’d been thrown was courtesy of WAHVA and their excellent intelligence department. If only you’d known just how incompetent they really were.

Shoving the wardrobe doors closed as you were satisfied with your haul, you wandered over to the set of drawers near your bed. Pulling the top one open, you rifled through your assortment of panties and bras, not being picky about which ones you took with you. Anything would do.

“You know… I can help if you let me in?” He stated again, clearly not set on giving up yet.

“I’m good. Thanks though.”

“You sure? I’ve been known to have a professional eye for lingerie.”

You whipped your head around to him, glaring in challenge as he simply flashed you a sly wink that did nothing for the flush that rose to your cheeks. Stifling the smile that threatened to cross your lips, you turned away from him, shaking your head in quiet disbelief.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” You called over your shoulder, still going about busying yourself with packing.

“Go for it.”

“How long have you guys been in that place? The mansion.”

It was something that had been playing on your mind for a while. WAHVA had found them somehow, and while you couldn’t be sure of how they’d managed it given the seclusion of the place, you were curious as to how long the clan had gotten away with living there undetected.

Minho shrugged, pursing his lips in thought.

“Couple years, maybe? Can’t be sure. You start to lose a sense of time when it means nothing to you.” He replied, his voice echoing across the apartment.

You hummed in response, understanding the logic behind that thinking. Why keep track of time when you having nothing but?

“Where were you before that?” You asked, chucking more things into your suitcase.

“Hey, listen,” he sighed, “if we’re gonna play twenty questions I’m not doing it from out here. It’s bad manners. Invite me in already.”

You groaned under your breath in exasperation, turning to face him as the bra you’d picked up dangled from your fingertips.

He smiled far too sweetly, cocking his head expectantly.

“Pretty please?”

It was futile to deny him. Almost mean at this point. And you knew it.

“Fine. Do come in, Minho.”

He all but skipped over the threshold in delight, a bright grin on his face with the smug satisfaction of winning you over.

“That wasn’t so hard was it?” He crooned, closing the door behind him.

“Why do I already regret this?” You laughed, turning your attention back to the packing.

You ignored the way he wandered around your apartment, mostly because his hands remained glued to the pockets of his leather jacket, so you weren’t too worried about him touching anything he shouldn’t. You were sure he knew better than to touch anything that looked even remotely like it was made from metal, with the risk of it being silver and all.

“So?” You asked, able to lower your voice now that he was inside.

“So what?”

“Where were you before the mansion?”

“Oh…” He mused, admiring the collage of candid photographs that decorated one side of your wall. “Nowhere really. Not since V Day, anyway. We stayed in the city. The backstreets. Places out in the country. Wherever we could find that seemed safe.”

A wave of upset washed over you with his admission. Chan had mentioned that they’d had to move around a lot, and you never doubted that, but the nonchalance with which Minho explained it almost seemed sadder. Like he was so used to it that it was now simply a part of their lives.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, the words no more than a whisper.

But Minho had no trouble hearing it, of course.

“Why are _you_ sorry?” He asked, a look of confusion on his face. “You’re not the one that drove us out of our true home.”

You shifted on your feet, dropping another item of clothing into the suitcase. He certainly didn’t seem to harbour the same prejudices Chan did, at the very least.

“I know. I just… I feel bad, I guess.”

Minho gasped in mock surprise, strutting over to you.

“You feel bad? For us? For _me?_ I’m touched, sweetheart.”

Rolling your eyes in annoyance, you shrugged off his approach as he sat on the end of your dishevelled bed. You had a feeling that deflection was his thing.

A sudden sniff from behind you made you tense, and you turned to see where the hell it was coming from.

It was him.

His nose crinkled, his jaw tense as he continued to sniff into the air, his attention turning to the apparent source of the smell that had irked him. Or more specifically, your bed sheets.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You asked before he all but buried his head into your linen.

“How many people have you had in here, Y/N?” He quipped, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, shut up.”

“No, really. This place stinks like a seventeenth century brothel. And I would know.”

“Minho! Stop! Who I have here is none of your goddamn business, and neither is how many. I have needs too, okay?” You snapped, finding his observation on your sex life entirely unfunny.

He hummed in response, his demeanour changing entirely too quickly with your comment. He stood from the bed, stalking towards you, and while you couldn’t see him with your back turned, you could definitely feel him coming.

“Yeah? You know… I can help with those needs.” He purred, stopping just close enough that he wasn’t touching you, but that you could feel the cold he radiated.

“Please,” you half-laughed, folding up another set of panties and a matching bra, “I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man alive.”

A sudden grip on your shoulder nearly sent you off balance as Minho spun you around, his form pressing up against you. His crimson irises were ablaze, utterly consuming while the drawer behind you rocked on its’ legs with the force of him.

“Let me make a few things clear, kitten.” He muttered, arms caging you in at either side. “Firstly, I’m no man. I’m _so_ much more than that.”

Your breath hitched as he tilted his head, inching ever closer to you.

“Secondly, I’m very much dead. See?”

He deftly took your hand in his, splaying your palm against the exposed skin of his chest. Smooth to the touch, and just as firm as you’d imagined he’d be, yet he was almost painfully cold. There was no heartbeat. No consistent, comforting thud beneath those perfectly formed pectorals. Though you’d known all along that he didn’t have one, the reality of actually _feeling_ it was entirely unsettling.

He held your hand there, seeming to relish in the way your eyes widened with his boldness.

“And thirdly… If I wanted you, I could have you. All it would take is a snap of my allure to get you to beg for me.”

His lips barely an inch away from your own, you held your breath in anticipation. His scent was pulling you into a gentle lull of wanting, his presence utterly overwhelming all your senses.

When his gaze dropped to your décolletage. To the small pendant resting there.

“What’s this…?” He muttered, sinking in to give a gentle sniff. A subsequent grimace crossed his features, another flash of his eyes.

“Wild rose. Cute.”

“I won’t take it off…” You whispered, your words barely audible.

He raised an eyebrow at your admission, clearly surprised.

“Good. I’d rather you kept it on. It’ll protect you from my allure. But unfortunately, not from _me_. And there’s not half as much fun in an easy fuck.”

Your mind was running wild, all the possibilities of what his allure could be presenting themselves at once. Some form of subordination manipulation, like Changbin? Or something more similar to Chan’s… _pleasure_ inducement?

If you hadn’t known better, you’d have made the mistake of drawing the feelings running through you at this moment up to the power of an allure. But you did know better.

And you knew it wasn’t something he was doing. This wasn’t some form of trick, or magic, or anything else.

It was you. It was him. And you wanted it already.

He took his bottom lip between his teeth, the very peaks of his fangs just visible over the flesh. Yet you didn’t scare from it. His fingers slid into the gaps between yours, held close to his chest. His breathing incrementally laboured, crimson gaze flicking from your eyes, to your parted lips, and back again.

“You feel that?” He whispered, breath fanning across your skin. “That little spark? Crackling beneath the surface? It’ll light and consume you if you let it… ”

You nodded quietly, too caught up in his embrace to ever want to move.

“That’s desire, raw and oh-so- _fucking_ beautiful. Your desire for _me_. I hear how fast your heart is pounding. I see how you’ve pressed your thighs together twice since I’ve been this close.”

Shit.

“Remember how this feels…” He hissed, his free hand coming up to soothe the skin of your cheek. “Because this is just a small taste, kitten.”

You leaned in to his touch, lids fluttering with the way his hand perfectly encompassed the side of your face. Like you were built to fit him.

“What if… I want more than just a taste?” You mumbled, your needs for this vampire arising above all else. This took precedence. _He_ took precedence.

He smiled knowingly, dropping his hand from your skin. Releasing all contact, he took a step away, leaving you breathless and with a burning fire to your cheeks.

“I’d say to have patience,” he sighed, sweeping his hand through his red tresses as he turned away from you, “delayed gratification is far more rewarding.”

You tried to pull yourself together, wobbling uncertainly on your feet as you steadied yourself, your core tight and nerves screaming for more. Kicking closed the suitcase you’d been throwing your things into, you resisted the urge to shoot daggers into his broad back.

Your earlier statement had been true. As undeniably attractive as he was, you wouldn’t have slept with him until about a minute ago.

But either way, that had backfired hilariously, and now the sole thing on your mind was how you were going to get through the rest of this shared living experience with a man like that under the same roof.

It was going to be torture.

Straightening your shoulders and taking a deep breath, you stalked past him, doing your best to ignore the rampant lust that had set in.

“Where are you going?” He called after you, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“To take a shower.” You shot back, not sparing him a second glance.

“A fucking cold one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	6. Chapter 6

##### “How’s the unpacking going?”

You looked up from your splayed out suitcase and the mess of clothes before you, greeted by the sight of Minho leaning against the door frame of your room.

As casual as ever, yet no less breathtaking. It suddenly struck you that this time, he wouldn’t have needed an invitation to walk straight in. This time, he was simply being polite. He seemed to have a way of consistently surprising you.

“It’s going.” You smiled, standing and dusting yourself off. “Is Chan back yet?”

Minho shook his head, eyes darting around your new abode.

“Not yet. So this is where he’s holed you up, huh?” He asked.

“It is. It needs work, I know. But I can live with it for now.” You sighed, glancing around your depressing surroundings once again.

“It needs work?” He scoffed, stepping inside. “I’d say you’re being kind with that one.”

You hummed in response, giving him a shrug before you turned your attention back to your possessions.

“Yeah, probably. But this is all just temporary anyway.”

Minho stopped at your words for a moment, before collecting himself just as quickly. You wondered if there was a reason for it, though didn’t pay it much mind. After what had happened in your apartment with him, you’d resolved to make a point of staying away. Or, at least in the physical sense.

He seemed to have a way of robbing your rational thoughts when he got too close. And you’d prefer that didn’t happen every time you were together.

“Anyway, I, uh… just came to let you know that Lix and Jisung are back with your food. You might want to go supervise them. Before they eat it all?” He muttered, heading for the door.

“Oh, great!” You beamed, hopping after him, before you caught the end of his statement. “But, wait… You guys don’t eat human food, do you?”

Minho chuckled under his breath, wandering off down the corridor as you followed behind.

“We can. We just don’t if we can help it. Doesn’t taste great. Though those two have a major hard on for anything sweet.”

“I see…” You mumbled, more to yourself than to him.

You were learning new things every day, it seemed.

* * *

##### “Oh my god…”

Your exclamation was entirely unexpected, but definitely an appreciative one.

Stepping into the kitchen that had been nothing short of unusable the last time you’d been here several days ago, you could barely believe it was the same place.

Brand new appliances and sparkling, pristine worktops replaced the old, decrepit ones that had called this place home. A fresh coat of paint and new floor tiles, even the furniture had been replaced with a homely dining table and chairs here and there. Cutlery and tools were laid across out the worktops, some of them still with the packaging on, evidence to the fact that they’d just been bought.

“What the hell…?” You half laughed, eyes not knowing where to settle first.

“You like it?” A beaming Felix asked, bounding over to your side.

He linked his arm in yours, dragging you further inside as he assessed every second of your wondrous reaction.

“But what… How…? I mean, why-”

“Because you’re living with us now!” He interrupted, his silver tresses swept back over one side of his sharp features. “We want you to feel at home here. And we’re terribly efficient.”

Suffice it to say, the ability to form words had escaped you. For them to go to these lengths, to make these compromises for you? You certainly hadn’t expected this level of hospitality, especially considering the circumstances under which you were even here.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Thank you might be a good start.” Another voice piped up, the brother you recognised as Hyunjin emerging from the corner of the kitchen.

His soft blonde locks fell to shoulder length, his perfectly plump lips pursed in what appeared to be disapproval as he wandered around the newly refurbished room, dragging a single finger over the spotless worktop.

“All this fuss for a human?” He muttered, entirely to himself.

“Hey,” you piped up, shooting him a glare. “I didn’t ask for this. You didn’t have to do it.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, cocking his head in questioning.

“No? So we should just let you starve? Die? I mean, I’m not against the idea, but I think your overlords might have something to say about it.” He quipped.

Your stomach churned at the mention of the Company, your feelings about them still in turmoil to say the least. If any of what Chan had said was true, you were surely complicit in their acts. And if everything was true? You dreaded to think about it.

“Although…” He sighed, approaching you closer still. “Not that they’d care if you did croak. They haven’t sent a single soul to look for you. It’s kinda sad.”

“I’m a freelance Envoy, Hyunjin. I know that makes me expendable. And I knew the risks when I signed up,” you retorted, refusing to let the accuracy of his observation rattle you. “Not that I’d need their help to deal with you, anyway.”

He scoffed under his breath, a clear gesture of disbelief at your unwarranted confidence.

“Think you could take me without your weapons and toys? You’re deluded, little girl.”

“Okay!” Felix interrupted, cutting off the argument that was clearly going nowhere. “That’s enough. Hyunjin, please don’t ruin this. We worked so hard, remember?”

A roll of his eyes and a sneer in your direction ended the confrontation, and Hyunjin promptly left the room.

“You’re wasting your time. All of you,” he called over his shoulder, “Chan’ll shut this shit down the minute he gets back.”

Felix shook his head at you, dismissing the comment as nothing.

“I’m sorry about him, Y/N. He can get… antsy sometimes. I think the lack of human blood is taking its’ toll on some of them.” He laughed nervously, gesturing for you to sit at the oaken table as he pulled a cushioned chair from it.

You understood, and you still felt bad about it. You knew that this whole situation was just an inconvenient for them as it was for you.

“Let me fix you something to eat, hm?” Felix grinned, changing the subject.

“Felix, I can cook for myself-”

“No!” He retorted, holding a hand up to you as he pulled an apron from the nearest drawer. “I want to do this. Please let me do this?”

You couldn’t have denied him if you’d wanted to. The pouting expression and wide, pleading eyes made him endearing in the most unlikely of ways.

“Can you even cook?” You laughed, resting your chin on your palm as you watched him busy himself.

“Are you kidding? I love to cook. Or, loved to. I’ve been asking them for ages to clean this place out. You were the perfect excuse.”

You hadn’t missed the way he’d corrected himself. Another reminder that while Felix was in front of you, as seemingly alive and breathing as you were, he also wasn’t. He’d had a life before this. They all had. And that had been cut short, one way or another.

Watching in mild amusement as a tinge of sadness swept through you, you let Felix do what he needed to do, reminding yourself to thank him later, and do the dishes as payment.

It was the least you could do.

* * *

##### With the arrival of the night, the mansion adopted an entirely different kind of atmosphere.

As opposed to the daylight that provided a bleak insight to the neglect and general timeworn interior of your section of the estate, the darkness and pale moonlight illuminated the surfaces of everything it touched, bathing everything in a dull shade of silver.

It should have been eerie. Should have been unsettling, to say the least.

Yet the more time you spent here, the more you found yourself feeling strangely at home in the dark. Like the place came to life only when the sun had set.

Because for the most part, that was true.

The brothers would be active during the day, but only if they had to be. Preferring to spend their time asleep or in the shadows of their separate areas, they left you to your own devices much of the time, only rising properly when night fell.

Today had been an exception. Minho taking you out, stealing you away from the place. Felix, Jisung and a few choice others pulling together to fix the kitchen for you.

So leaning over the frame of your bay window, looking out to the silent courtyard below, you could admit to losing a sliver of the dread you used to have, even if you couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason for that. An unwarranted comfort had been born its’ place.

And you were very aware that that feeling of comfort, the false sense of security presented problems all anew.

You tried to remind yourself that this was temporary. That you were here, for the most part, against your will, and the underlying threat of danger would surely come bubbling to the surface if you ever made any attempt at escape. That alone was enough to fend you from the idea.

A gentle knock at your door roused you from your thoughts. Wondering who it could be, you wandered over to it, not thinking twice about pulling it open, because the knock was a pleasantry at best. If whoever it was wanted in, they could easily manage that one way or another.

“Minho?”

A gentle smile on his ethereal face, strong arms crossed over his chest and his booted foot pressed to the wall behind him as he reclined against it, he cocked his head at you in greeting.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here?” You asked in a hushed whisper that you were sure wasn’t necessary.

“Come walk with me.” He instructed, pulling himself from the wall as he gestured for you to follow.

“Now? Where?”

He glanced over his shoulder, beckoning silently.

Normally you would have questioned the sudden proposal. Pushed him for answers, harder than you were right now.

This time, you didn’t want to.

* * *

The courtyard of the estate had been one of the few places you’d yet to venture into.

The view of it from your bedroom window was second to none, the labyrinthine hedges and gravelled paths winding together to form a garden that you had no doubt you’d get lost in. That was part of the reason you’d avoided it until now.

And you were glad of that.

Walking side by side with Minho, he acted as your guide. You kept your arms crossed to your chest, the two of you strolling in silence through the greenery. Much like the inside of the estate, everything here had been bathed in hues of off-blue and silver, the tips and petals of surprisingly robust flowers swaying silently in their own foray. The soft crunch of pebbles and debris beneath your feet acted as the only sound around for miles, the cool evening air lapping at your bare shoulders, and a subtle shiver ran down your spine.

Minho glanced through his peripherals, the gesture not going unnoticed.

Slinking his leather jacket from his shoulders, he took it between his fingers, draping it over your form without saying a word. Immediate warmth that probably shouldn’t have been present sunk into your skin, the wholesome scent of cinnamon and his musky cologne surrounding your neck.

It was a simple act of kindness. Nothing more than that. Yet the subsequent flush that rose to your cheeks was entirely helpless.

“Thanks.”

He hummed in response, hands firm in his pockets as the two of you continued your meander.

You couldn’t be sure how much time passed. But the silence was nice. Comforting, in the most unexpected of ways. Minho’s presence offered a sense of security that you knew was almost as foolish as it was unintentional on his part, especially since he could just as easily become the source of the danger if he chose.

But somehow, you didn’t think he would.

“You haven’t been out here yet, right?” He asked, his voice low.

You shook your head, knowing that even if he didn’t see it, your lack of an answer would tell him what he needed to know.

“I come here sometimes. At night. Gives me space to clear my head. Time to think, you know?”

You did know. And you could see why this place would give him that.

“Do you… need that often? Space?”

Minho shrugged, clearly opting to choose silence over the truth. You wondered what thoughts or worries plagued him that he’d need this solitude, but knew better than to push.

“Things just get… loud sometimes,” he sighed, flashing you a glance, “up here.”

A gentle tap to his temple confirmed your suspicions, his implication acknowledging with you, and you nodded in response.

“It’s nice,” you smiled, the two of you rounding a corner to a central area of the courtyard. “I can see why you like it.”

A grand stone fountain was nestled before you, the statue that adorned it still standing proud. A naked woman, her carved hair flowing down her back, the tipped urn in her hands having long since run dry of any trace of water. Cracks in the stone indicated the age of the ornament, vines and various forms of foliage having claimed it with the passing of time. Hedges and overgrowth surrounded this central area on all sides, small gaps in the shrubbery acting as the only sign that there were ever paths here at all.

Minho gestured for you to follow, leading the way as he perched on the edge of it.

You sat next to him, his leather jacket snug around your shoulders and eyes wide as you took in the frankly unbelievable scenery. This place held a melancholic beauty, lonely and just as mesmerising as the rest of the estate. It could have been even more stunning, once upon a time.

“It’s so pretty…” You mumbled, more to yourself.

“Yeah. It is.”

Looking back at him, you swallowed as you realised his gaze was fixed entirely on you.

The crimson to his eyes was brighter than you’d ever seen it, the encroaching moonlight highlighting his perfect complexion in ways you’d thought weren’t possible. Singular locks of his fiery tresses fell loose, sweeping his thick lashes as they drifted with the gentle evening breeze.

Enchanting wouldn’t have been the right word, the meaning falling utterly short in its’ description of the man before you. The vampire beside you.

Yet you couldn’t stop yourself.

Your hand moved before your mind could register it. A careful approach on autopilot, fingers trembling as you reached up to his face. His gaze remained unblinking, yet his lids fell heavy as your fingertips caught the single stray strand of his hair.

You swept it aside, tentative and careful, the cold of his skin sending tingles to your whole hand.

His hair was soft, surprisingly so. Silken in its’ feeling. Caressing it back to his head, you let your fingers fall down the side of his face, tracing a gentle path to his jaw. Minho remained unmoving, not a single sign nor expression crossing him as you proceeded to explore him, while you were all but falling apart the longer you touched him.

You tried to slow your breathing, tried to tell yourself that this was stupid. So very, very stupid.

But as your fingers slid down the expanse of his thick neck, your hand palming to his cold, smooth chest, your resolve crumbled.

His hand came to yours, long fingers entwining to the gaps. He held it there once again, repeating much the same action he’d done in your apartment.

Perhaps that was what this was. The residue of your earlier encounter, a ream of unfinished business.

“Doesn’t this bother you?” He questioned, his voice a whisper.

He was referring to the absence of a heartbeat. The stark reminder that while he walked, talked, and acted as though he was just as living as you were, he was still different from you in almost every way.

A creature. Not of your world.

Yet it wasn’t enough to irk you. Initially, perhaps, but no more.

“No.”

He cocked his head, giving you a look of gentle scepticism.

“I’m dead.”

“But you’re not.” You retorted, tremors setting in to your bones, though you didn’t know them to be from the cold, or a result of him. “You’re here, aren’t you? Beside me?”

Minho blinked for a moment, your observation catching him off guard, though he nodded tentatively.

“You speak, and I hear it. You smile, and I smile back. Dead people don’t do that. They can’t.” You reassured, sliding closer to him across the stone of the fountain.

“But I-”

“And you feel this…” You interrupted, bringing your other hand to his muscled thigh, resting it there carefully. “Don’t you?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep inhalation of breath through his nose.

“I feel it…” He muttered.

“Then I’d say that makes you just as alive as me. There’s a fire in you, Minho. I know it.”

A gentle squeeze of your hand made your breath hitch, his lids sliding open to meet your gaze. His irises were ablaze, an expression you couldn’t read on his face.

In all honesty, you weren’t even sure what you were trying to do. When black and white were examined, he was still a vampire, and you, still a human. But something about the way he kept trying to tell you he was something other than that, like he was something to be repulsed by and warded off made your heart hurt inexplicably.

“Y/N…” He breathed, pulling your hand from his chest. “You’re a good person. I can see that.”

You cocked your head at him, already missing the contact of his skin.

“And I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But let me make something clear.” He stated, placing his hand instead over the one you had on his thigh.

“Don’t try to humanise me. Don’t project your fantasies. I’ve done… terrible things. Some of them in self defence. And some of them for the sheer enjoyment of it. I’m _not_ a good person, and whether I’m alive or not, those things will never be scrubbed from my past.”

You shook your head in quiet refusal, the pains in your chest once again returning with his monologue.

“You and I… This is predator and prey. Don’t you see that?”

“You won’t hurt me.” You retorted, holding firm.

“Won’t I?”

A sudden closure of the distance between you rendered you breathless, his proximity being too quick for you to comprehend. He was mere inches away, his plump, full lips parted expectantly.

“I’ve never been one for indulging self control,” he mumbled, gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips, “I wouldn’t advise testing me. Besides, you said so yourself. This is all just temporary.”

Your shoulders tensed as he brought his free hand to your neck, being careful to avoid the pendant that sat on your chest, bright and clear in the dim light.

“Don’t bother yourself with getting attached. I can’t be anything more than one of the vampires that’s holding you.”

A gentle lean in fanned his breath across your skin, a subsequent chill gripping you.

“But we can make the most of the time you have here. Indulge ourselves a little. So if the fuck of your life is what you want… I’m happy to oblige. More than happy.”

His voice trailed off as his lips found your earlobe, teeth grazing at the soft skin just enough to send a shudder down your spine.

“M- Minho… I-”

“You what?” He taunted, tingling cold sweeping across your skin. “You started this. And I’ll bear the responsibility of finishing it.”

He pulled away, hand secure around the back of your neck, irises blazing into yours. A look of determination held in his eyes, sending your mind to a daze.

“You can have me,” he rasped, “but you can never have _all_ of me. I can’t afford that. Neither can you. Understand?”

You did. You understood the things he was saying, and you were registering them on a base level.

He’ll sate your desires. He’ll take you to places you’ve never been, subject you to pleasures you didn’t think could exist, much as he’d promised in your apartment earlier that day.

But you’re not to get attached. You’re not to develop feelings, or paint him to be the saint that he’s not.

It made perfect sense, on the surface. A melancholic, bleak sense that you’d known was there all along. Perhaps you had been projecting when you’d thought him to be a good person. The truth was that you didn’t know him at all, didn’t know the things he’d done.

And it was better that way. Minho was right.

“So?” He taunted, tilting his head expectantly. “What do you want?”

You knew what you wanted. There’d been no question, perhaps from the moment you’d laid eyes on him.

And so you answered him the only way you could. Consequences be damned.

A gentle surge forward as you threw your arms to his neck, his own encircling your waist just as quickly. The fire was immediate, any trace of cold seeping away as you pressed your lips to his full ones, melding together in a head spinning tryst of instantaneous passion.

He felt so soft, so utterly gentle as he pulled you to his lap, your thighs straddling him at either side. The rough stone of the fountain scraped at your calves, yet you couldn’t have cared. An inaudible gasp escaped you as his hands slid under the jacket that adorned your shoulders, his palms splayed flat against your spine as he held you upright in place.

Your fingers entwined with his hair, the colour of blazing embers, silken beneath your hands. An experimental tug tilted his head back, a subsequent smirk forming against your mouth as you deepened the kiss. Pressing closer to him, he keened backwards with your fervour, large hands gliding down your form to hold the curve of your hips.

Your lids cracked open when you needed to see him, the visual you were presented with only adding to the feast of lust you were indulging in. Each time, you were granted with a flash of the deepest crimson eyes or caramel skin, the creases in his brow indicating that he was almost as far gone as you.

The subtle sounds of moisture broke only when you needed breath, yet Minho never allowed it for long. One heated kiss after another, each one deeper than the last, softer than the last, more impassioned than the last.

You could have kissed him forever. Could have drowned in the sensation of him with the way everything else faded to the background. There was nothing that could have taken precedence, not a singular thought that wasn’t centred around the vampire beneath you.

In an instant, a split second that you hadn’t even accounted for, he had become everything.

* * *

##### “You’re sure you want this?”

Had this been the third time he’d checked in? You couldn’t be sure. Either way, it felt like the third time too many.

Pressed to the wall of your bedroom, you whined quietly as Minho withdrew his advances, arms caging you in at either side. Breathless and flushed, you curled your fingers to his silken shirt, clutching with a desperation you hadn’t felt in too long, if ever.

“Minho, please…” you whimpered, glassy eyes taking in his ethereal visage, “I need this. I need you.”

“Need me how?” He questioned, relishing in the way you tried to pull him closer.

“I need you every way… however you want-”

“ _However_ I want?”

The clarification didn’t go unnoticed by you, and honestly, you didn’t have the capacity to care what you’d just asked of him. You’d already willingly submitted, your rampant desire overriding any of your other senses the moment you’d allowed yourself the weakness. He could have you however he wanted. Whenever he wanted. As long as he took you.

“ _However_ you want…”

A low, appreciative hum resounded from his chest at your repetition, and he once again closed the frustrating distance he’d created. Lips connecting in a mess of heat, his hands fell from the wall, taking hold of the hem of your shirt.

He pulled it over your shoulders with a deft tug, flinging it to the floor, taking a second to admire your naked upper body and the absence of your bra in the pale light of the room.

Self consciousness didn’t have a chance to set in before he was guiding you back to your four poster bed, one arm circling your waist securely.

Your knees hit the edge, buckling with his force as he set you back to it. Standing before you, he removed his own shirt with a practised grace. Saliva formed in your mouth at the unholy sight of him, ridged abs and firm pectorals hidden beneath the fabric. He was toned, muscular, yet not heavily built. Perfectly strong, with everything in proportion as it should be.

“Come to me.” You beckoned, unable to deny yourself the craving of touching him. “Please.”

A knowing smile crossed his lips as he granted your request, crawling to all fours as you scrambled backwards on your elbows. Like a slinking tiger set on its’ prey, the butterflies in your stomach set to panicked flight as he eventually caught up with you, a firm hand prising your legs open by the knee.

He settled between them, your breathing nothing but erratic as your bodies finally connected, his bare chest to yours.

It set you alight, despite the cool of his skin. His biceps tensed, your hands curling around them and relishing in the firmness as he lowered himself over you and caught your lips once again. Claiming you like he always knew he would.

“You smell so _fucking_ good.” He muttered, nosing at your chin as you tilted your head back for him. “Your blood, it sings to me…”

The mention of blood, the involvement of it in any way would normally have repulsed you in moments like this. Yet for some reason, you couldn’t think of anything other than the way your scent drove him crazy. How he seemed to lose himself in the sense you provided, and how empowering that was, even if it was undeserved.

He travelled down your neck, lips grazing at the flesh, never more than a feathering touch. Sparks of wanting swept through your skin, each touch more lust inducing than the last.

Until he stopped, pulling back abruptly, nose crinkled in mild disgust.

“W- What’s wrong?” You asked, your question breathy.

Minho’s gaze remained fixed to your chest. To the small wild rose pendant resting there, nestled just above your heaving cleavage.

He shook his head gently, a look of something resembling apology crossing his face.

“Don’t ever take this off. Promise me.”

You nodded in confusion, choosing not to press the issue. Compliance was best in this case, and you knew it. You could guess enough as to why he never wanted you to remove it, his earlier admittance about his lack of self control springing to the forefront of your mind.

He took a deep breath, seemingly trying to regain a silver of his composure before you pulled him back to you, forehead pressing to his.

“Take me, Minho. Please…”

His eyes flashed, the vibrancy of crimson intensifying with your plea. A gentle roll of his hips sent a groan from your mouth, his solid erection grazing against your still clothed sex. Separated only by the thin fabric, Minho sat back on his knees, taking firm hold of the waistband of your jeans.

One button after another, he popped them deftly, slinking them from your hips and down your thighs. Raising your body for him, you held your legs to the air as he stripped them from your feet, followed quickly by your dampened panties and tossing them to a corner of the room the moonlight couldn’t reach.

Now bare before him, he admired you once again, his breath hitching with your exposure.

“Beautiful… Beautifully fragile.”

You supposed in comparison to him and his raw strength, you probably did appear fragile. But you didn’t have time to feel more than the initial giddiness his passing comment instilled in you before he returned to you.

This time, he wrapped one arm around your body. With barely any effort, he flipped you to your front, your breasts pressed to the mattress beneath you, your rear presented to him as he pulled you up your hips.

The gentle sound of a zipper coming undone, rustling of clothes and the clinking of a belt buckle sent waves of anticipation through you, your desperate wetness only worsening as the desire to be filled by him took over.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you could only catch a glimpse of his bare thighs and hips, smooth and taut before he settled behind you.

“You’re sure this is-”

“Minho,” you interrupted, cutting off his fourth needless attempt at a check in, “if you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll take matters into my own hands.”

“Oh?” He retorted, large hands gliding around your presented cheeks. “What makes you think I’ll allow that?”

A rasping cry emitted from you as he whipped a firm smack to your cheek, a gentle stinging sweeping across your skin. Perhaps more enticing than that was the notion that he was actively being gentle with you, and you knew it. His inherent strength would have been enough to overpower you in an instant, yet he was _choosing_ to be tender, despite the mild punishment.

“Seems like I’ll have to force something other than attitude out of that pretty mouth, hm? You take my care for granted?”

“N- No, I-”

Another swift smack to the same spot had you arching your back in need, your retort trailing off to a cry. He quickly caressed the skin, his cold, soothing touch acting as a remedy to the soreness he’d inflicted.

“Silly little kitten. You go from begging for my cock to barking out demands. You’re lucky I’m too fucking horny to deny you.” He hissed, hands gliding around your hips as he positioned you properly.

A gentle sweep of his cock through your thigh gap made you mewl in wanting, your cheeks flushing desperately. Every nerve in your body was burning with lust, your rampant arousal coating his length.

“So wet… Fuck-”

A careful prod at your entrance caused your breath to catch, your back arching impossibly deeper for him. You _needed_ him.

“Please… Please, _please_ , Minho-”

You almost didn’t hear the door fling open.

Didn’t register the way it bounced off the hinges, the splitting crack of wood on concrete drilling through your ears.

Didn’t notice the sudden lack of contact when Minho was pulled from you, thrown to the opposite wall of the room in a millisecond with a deafening crash, like his weight was nothing.

And you couldn’t breathe, when you saw Chan. Rage induced and fangs exposed, crimson eyes searing with a blood red anger that was unmistakable to you. Like a stalwart knight, he was positioned between you and your suitor, shoulders tensed. His stance suggesting a need for fierce protection that you hadn’t wanted. Hadn’t anticipated.

“Leave. Right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ Feedback via [Tumblr](https://jl-micasea.tumblr.com/) or on AO3  
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	7. Chapter 7

##### “Leave. Right now.”

It was an order. A firm command, and even though Chan wasn’t looking at you, you knew it was intended for your ears.

“Are you insane?!” You yelled, gathering the sheets around you as you scrambled from the bed.

You rushed for Minho’s side when Chan’s arm before you blocked your path, yet Minho didn’t appear half as fazed as you would have expected.

The force of his impact to the wall had created cracks in the very concrete, a clear impression left in the stone. Yet he didn’t look hurt. Not even remotely winded, whereas a normal man would have been critically injured, if not worse.

He simply knelt on the ground, one arm resting atop his knee. He cocked his head up, the same blood red glint running present in his eyes as he glared up at Chan.

“Don’t you know about knocking before you enter a human’s room? That was fucking rude.” He snarled, dusting himself off as he stood with a clear nonchalance. Like he hadn’t just been vaulted across a decent space.

“Y/N, just leave, it’s not safe-”

“I’m not leaving! What the hell are you talking about, not safe?!” You retorted, shoving past him to get to the other.

A look of exasperation crossed his face, and you knew he could have stopped you if he’d really wanted to. Yet he didn’t.

Rushing to Minho’s side, you took his face in your hands, equally as surprised when he didn’t brush you off. His current temperament would have suggested that he probably didn’t want to be touched, but he seemed more than willing. At least, for you.

“Are you okay?” You mumbled, thumbing gently over the minor gash on his left cheek.

“Fine, kitten. It’ll take more than that to put me out of action.” He winked, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, one that admittedly made you blush.

You could get used to this. You didn’t know if you should.

“Minho, stop it,” Chan snarled, taking a step closer to the two of you, “this isn’t a fucking game. She isn’t a toy for you to play with and paw at. We need her.”

“A toy?” Minho shot back, putting one arm at your front protectively, standing before you. “I mean we _were_ playing, but what makes you think this is a game for me?”

Chan rolled his eyes, a quiet scoff escaping him.

“Because it always is. That’s who you are. I heard the commotion from the other side of the goddamn house, didn’t I give you specific instructions not to use your allure on her? You always think you can do what you want-”

“He didn’t!” You interrupted, your anger growing with the way he was once again talking about you like you weren’t present. “He didn’t use his allure. The… commotion was… uh, it was fine. Consensual. Good commotion. See?”

You took a step around Minho, catching the pendant on your décolletage between your fingers. Holding it up as best you could, Chan’s face dropped with the way it caught the light, as clear and visible as could be.

Minho smiled, though it wasn’t one of happiness. Smug victory would have been more accurate.

“You were saying, brother?” He taunted, pressing Chan once again.

Chan relaxed, seeming to drop his guard, though his expression morphed to one you couldn’t quite read. He seemed to resign himself to something unspoken as he swept his hand through his blonde locks, mildly regaining his composure.

“Just… watch it. We need her. If WAHVA show up here and all they find is a corpse just because you got too excited, we’re even more fucked than we already are.”

His address was defeated at best, an utterance as he headed for the door with decidedly heavier shoulders than before.

“Hold up-”

Minho moved into his path, an arm outstretched to stop him.

“You think I’m just gonna let you walk out of here? After that stunt?”

“Minho-”

“No, don’t brush this off. You barge in here like some clueless fuck, throw me off my girl, accuse me of using silly little tricks to get her into bed, and expect to walk out unscathed?” He stated, his demeanour growing more confrontational by the second.

You hadn’t missed that little passing comment. The nonchalant confirmation that you were _his_ girl. You knew you shouldn’t have keened with the way it fell on your ears, but the reaction was almost as helpless as every other you had to him.

Though he could have been doing it for Chan’s benefit. Could have been marking his territory, which wouldn’t have been unusual for a vampire. Especially after seeing how Chan’s face dropped when he realised it was your decision to be in this position with Minho.

Were you reading too much into this?

“Minho,” Chan mumbled, squaring up to the younger as though he wasn’t completely naked before him, “you don’t want this fight. You know that. So let’s end the show, shall we? While you still can.”

Something about his tone, about the way he so quickly shut down Minho’s display was almost as intimidating as Minho himself. Whether it was simple respect, alpha authority or the acknowledgement that Minho knew he couldn’t win, you couldn’t be sure.

But he backed down almost as quickly as he’d stepped up, his gaze fixed to the floor as Chan stalked past him.

You watched the whole thing play out with morbid curiosity, and you could admit to being besotted with it. Perhaps that was inappropriate, but this couldn’t be drawn up to something you saw every day.

“Y/N…” Chan called, stopping at the threshold of the door. “I’m sorry. I guess I… misunderstood. We’ll change your room tomorrow. You can’t stay here now.”

He inhaled slightly, as if there was more he wanted to say, words on the tip of his tongue.

“Be careful.”

And with that, he was gone.

His apology rang through the room, the expression of mild upset on his face, in his eyes, replaying through your head until you pulled yourself together.

Minho huffed under his breath, grabbing the jeans he’d kicked off earlier from the floor.

“Are you… leaving?” You asked, though you knew the answer.

“Yeah. Could just be me but that was a major mood killer.” He sighed, tugging on the clothes before he swiped his shirt up, slinging it over his shoulder. “Leave it to Chan to suck the fun out of the room.”

You weren’t sure why that statement made your chest ache, yet it did. There seemed to be so much more going on here. There had to be.

Your fingers curled to the thin sheet around your body as Minho approached you. The small gash on his cheek had faded to naught but a faint scar, and you were once again reminded that he was anything but human. Anything but natural.

Cold hands took hold of your bare shoulders as he held you at arms length, his expression soft.

“Get some sleep,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You nodded wordlessly, giving an entirely halfhearted smile, exhaustion catching up with you as the roller-coaster of emotions you’d been on began to set in.

“Minho…?” You called quietly as he began to walk away, causing him to stop in his tracks.

You wanted to ask if he’d meant what he’d said. If you were really _his_ girl. You wanted to ask if you were being stupid to imagine that the clear cut lines he’d drawn about not getting attached were just a front, and if that display of protective chivalry was for _you_ , or simply a deterrent for Chan.

You wanted to ask him so much.

But you couldn’t. Perhaps for fear of the answers.

“Goodnight.” You smiled, resigning yourself to the clamouring of thoughts you knew you’d have when you were alone.

“Sleep tight, kitten. Dream of me.”

And with that, he was gone. Swept through the tattered remains and wood chippings of your bedroom door, leaving you in deafening silence and confusion.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

##### You were used to sleepless nights.

Used to the dull ache in your head that would accompany you through to the rising of the sun, usually thanks to your levels of alcohol indulgence and other less than savoury activities of the night before.

Yet this morning, it was different.

Not a headache born from substance abuse or simple lack of sleep, but one of confusion. Pain.

Questioning whether or not you’d done the right thing in kissing Minho last night. Wondering if anything he’d said was true, trying to pick apart the sentences and statements he’d made to find the meanings between the lines, if they existed at all. Racking your brains to comprehend Chan’s warning. His simple instruction to ‘be careful’, because it implied so much more than just that.

Given your current situation and the company you seemed to be keeping lately, that warning could easily have been interpreted to mean several things.

'Be careful’, because you’re living with a bunch of vampires. “Be careful’ because they could well turn on you at any moment, and there wouldn’t be a damn thing you could do to stop it, at least without your weapons. 'Be careful’ because you’re defenceless, and alone.

But you didn’t feel like that was what he meant. You felt like it was meant for more than just your outward, physical protection.

His clear little warning… Was it in reference to Minho? In reference to the way you’d given yourself to him so easily? To a man, who really, you didn’t know the first thing about? Who had decades of life experience on you?

_I’ve done… terrible things. Some of them in self defence. And some of them for the sheer enjoyment of it. I’m not a good person._

Minho’s words by the fountain returned to you. His confession that, at the time, you’d taken as a tactic he was adopting to put you off getting too attached. He’d made himself perfectly clear.

But you’d never had any doubt as to whether there was truth to his macabre admittance. By his nature, his very physiology, he needed to hurt people to survive. You knew he’d have to pay a price for the human blood that was his only form of sustenance. They all did, you were sure.

Yet you hadn’t considered what that meant for you. What your complacency and general acceptance of his personality and lifestyle _did_ to you as a person. To your humanity.

And you wondered if Chan knew that. If he was trying to tell you.

'Be careful’, Y/N, because you’ll lose yourself in him. You’ll lose everything.

* * *

##### The side effects of being held captive by anti-social vampires were numerous, and not least of those, was the inevitable boredom that would set in day to day.

Boredom that could only be sated by fulfilling your curious tendencies, even just through exploring the musty parts of the estate you had yet to go.

Though by now, the only part you hadn’t managed to sneak around was the vampires’ secluded area in the East Wing. And that, you’d been told, was strictly forbidden.

You knew why, to a degree. You could respect their request for privacy, inasmuch as you were willing and able to. Their wing was theirs, yours was yours, and you maintained that distance for the most part until your paths crossed by chance.

So with nothing to do and no particular destination in mind, you found yourself wandering the quiet halls once again. Alone.

Until you remembered the grand library you’d happened upon during a previous exploration of the mansion. Just as neglected as the rest of the place, but at least it offered some form of entertainment.

You’d just pick out a few books and find a quiet space to devour them. Silence the voices in your head, by getting lost in new adventures until the morning.

Rinse and repeat.

* * *

##### Cracking open the door to the library, you peeked around the frame before stepping inside.

It was deathly quiet, dark and gloomy, just as you’d found it the first time. Not a single sign of life nor flickering candle to indicate anyone had been here at any point, and you rewarded yourself with a mental pat on the back for remembering to bring a torch.

Wandering inside the musty room, you shone the torch around the grand bookcases that lined the walls.

This place was almost unnecessarily large, not unlike the library of a prestigious university or medical school. Sturdy oak shelves held what seemed to be thousands of books, abandoned book carts and chairs strewn around the place, coated with thin films of dust and general neglect. Cobwebs hung clear as day from the ceiling, entwined amongst the long dead chandelier that you were sure could have been beautiful at one point.

All it looked now, was sad.

Approaching the shelves closest to you, you took the time to skim over the old leather bindings of the books at your eye level. From philosophy to science, dictionaries and encyclopaedias, old and new literature and all types of fiction, there was a plentiful array of things to choose from.

You just had to settle on something.

Dragging your finger absently along the rough, worn spines of the long unused books, you pursed your lips in thought as the torch in your other hand highlighted your path. And then you saw it.

_Virgil’s Aeneid._

Stopping in your path, your eyes lit up as you read the faded title. This was something you knew you’d enjoy, if only for the nostalgia you’d get for your school days where you were forced to read the thing for credit. You’d loved it, and begrudgingly so.

Tucking the torch under your arm, you took careful hold of the spine, tugging it gently from its’ nestled position on the shelf.

One pull… Two…

"Y/N?”

The voice made you jump in fright, an entirely helpless scream emitting from you as you dropped the torch to the floor with a prompt clatter.

“Jesus!” You cried, bringing your hand to your pounding chest.

Chan cocked his head, a half smile crossing his lips as he stepped out of the darkness that shrouded him.

“Sorry to disappoint.” He mumbled, noting your reference to a holy being with amusement. “How did you get in?”

Taking a moment to collect yourself, you were subsequently winded all over again as you took in the sight of him, just as striking as always. Would you ever stop being so mesmerised with him?

The sheer white shirt he wore fell open at the chest, exposing the perfect plans of his pectorals. A thin black choker held snug around his neck, his leather trousers doing nothing to hide the tautness of his thighs in the dim light of the torch, that was now shining up from the floor.

“I… Through the door, Chan. How else?” You responded eventually, bending down to pick up your light source.

Until Chan beat you to it, the two of you meeting heads halfway to the ground before you took a prompt step back away from him. If for no other reason than you felt like you had to.

“Thought I’d locked it…”

“You hadn’t. I don’t break and enter.” You retorted, crossing your arms over your chest as he spun the torch around in his hand.

“Oh?” He quipped, raising an eyebrow. “Wasn’t that how we met in the first place?”

You rolled your eyes at him, holding your hand out to indicate you wanted the torch back.

“How many times do I have to tell you, the goddamn gate opened for me. Just like your front fucking door. I practically rang the bell and walked in! You’re so-”

“I know,” he interrupted, handing the torch over carefully. “I’m just… teasing. I guess.”

His interruption caught you off guard, yet more than that, was the way he seemed so unsure. You hadn’t known he was trying to tease you, and while it was a basic social interaction and relatively normal thing to do, it still struck you as entirely out of character for him.

It was different, yet not altogether unpleasant.

You released a quiet laugh, more of exasperation than anything else.

“You almost got me…”

“Yeah. Sorry.” He smiled, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. Endearingly.

This was _very_ different.

“Why, uh… Why are you here anyway?” You asked, curiosity setting in. You knew this was his home, but the library didn’t strike you as the type of place he’d frequent.

Chan shrugged, looking up at the shelves that towered above you, at the books they clung to.

“I was looking for something. But I don’t think I’ll find it.”

“Looking for what?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he smiled, dismissing the question, “I’ll look another time.”

“Chan, just tell me. Maybe I can help-”

“Why are _you_ here?” He questioned, changing the subject. “Shouldn’t you be with him?”

Him. Even without the addition of a name, you knew he was referring to Minho. And you had no right to be surprised, given what had happened the night before.

“I wanted to be alone.” You muttered, wondering what was appropriate to say here.

You weren’t even sure what your relationship with Minho was, your mission in coming here to take the whole thing off your mind in the first place. You probably could have told Chan the truth. That you were simply looking to get your rocks off, no strings or questions, just as he was. Yet you didn’t want to, and that struck you as nothing but strange. When had you started caring what a vampire thought of you and your selfish tendencies?

But whatever your reasoning, Chan chose not to press the issue. You wondered if he knew. If his warning was anything to go by, he certainly had an inkling as to the uncertainty you harboured.

“So what were you looking for?” He mused, spotting the book you’d prised from the shelf, now on the floor.

He picked it up, turning it over in his fingers as a look of mild appreciation crossed his face.

“The Aeneid? Didn’t take you for an ancient literature nut.”

“I’m not,” you laughed, swiping the book from his hand. “I read it when I was young.”

“You did? The cliff notes version though, right?”

You shot him a look of mock offence, followed by a glare, to which he waved off in amusement.

“No! The whole thing. I just… I like it. I like the story.”

“Yeah?” He mused, his tone quieter than the last.

You hummed in response, palming over the cover of the heavy book, remembering the fond tales, trials and tribulations of this epic that had enraptured you when you were a naive teenager.

“Yeah…” You mumbled, tracing the engraved letters of the hardback. “The idea of the strong, stalwart hero and his mythical adventures. His wanderings and long, trying journey to find a second home.”

Chan’s expression softened as he listened, his features forming into one of mild understanding.

“I think… I relate to that. At least on a base level. Can’t say I’ve had experience with gods and goddesses though.” He chuckled.

You looked up at him fondly, pulled from your trance at his confession.

“You mean… trying to find a new home?”

Chan nodded, sweeping his hand through his white blonde locks.

“It wasn’t easy,” he sighed, “we went through a lot.”

“Like what?”

Perhaps you shouldn’t have pushed him. Shouldn’t have asked the question and simply minded your own business, but by now your curiosity was impossible to sate. And if you were reading this right, he almost seemed prepared to talk about it.

You wanted to know what he’d been through. What they’d all been through.

Chan exhaled heavily, as if resigning himself to the situation. Then gestured for you to walk with him via a motion of his head.

Leading you through the constricted walkways between the shelves and bookcases, you followed him through to the back end of the room. Where a timeworn, faded red sofa had been placed, books thrown haphazardly around it. Dim candlelight surrounded the small space, yet many of them had descended into nothing more than piles of hardened wax, running both their course and use until they’d extinguished. A soft off-white rug was strewn in front of it, and a small oak table atop that, in addition to pillows and cushions that simply had not withstood the test of time, their colours dull and texture flat.

Yet despite how entirely urban it looked, it radiated a homely kind of warmth. This was a private space, nestled at the very back of the library for someone, and now that you were here with him, you had no doubt as to who it belonged to.

Chan strolled inside, throwing himself to the sofa as he brought his boots to the table, crossing his legs in nonchalance.

“Sit.” He invited, tapping the space next to him.

You complied, still clutching the heavy book to your chest, taking a seat at his side.

“You really want to know?” He asked, as if needing confirmation that you were in for the entirety of this clearly long story.

“I do.” You smiled, sinking into the cushions at your back and bringing your knees to your chest in comfort. “Tell me everything.”

Chan nodded, his crimson gaze glued to the floor as he began his story.

His long, sad story.

* * *

##### “Chan?!”

The sound of Seungmin’s voice resounded through the corridors, travelling straight to Chan with a nuance of panic that he simply couldn’t have missed. The perks of heightened hearing couldn’t always be considered that.

He sat up straight in his seat, throwing the newspaper in his hands to the clipboard and document strewn desk in front of him.

Rushed footsteps thudded down the hall, followed by a clearly distressed Seungmin.

“What is it?” Chan asked, knowing full well that if Seungmin was worried about something, it was worth worrying over.

“It’s happening.”

Chan’s heart sank. The beginnings of a pit formed as he rushed from his seat, following Seungmin through the dark hall of their club and out into the main room, where the bar was housed. Chairs were placed atop tables, as was normal when they closed for the evening, the stale smell of alcohol and other substances permeating his senses, offering a wave of familiarity for the place they called home.

Yet his brothers were already gathered, all them focused on the wide screen television nestled in the corner of club proper. And the expressions on their faces were nothing but unfamiliar to him. It only served to deepen the sense of dread.

“What’s going on?” He questioned, forcing his way to the front of the group, gaze fixed to what appeared to be a news broadcast.

“They’re calling it V Day.” Jisung muttered, head in his hands as Felix soothed his back, yet he looked just as stressed.

_And now we return to our breaking news story, yet before that, we have been receiving calls and complaints, I’m told, from several dubious viewers as to whether or not this is a hoax. We can confirm, ladies and gentleman, that this is real. The existence of vampires has been confirmed, and they could be right under your nose. Next, we’ll be speaking to…_

The volume of the television faded to the background. The next words from the anchor’s mouth were nothing, and Chan almost didn’t need to hear them as he watched the news play out.

A person, sat on the plush blue sofa with the anchor next to him like it was simply a daytime chat show. Yet this person wasn’t just that. They were a vampire. One that had exposed everything, gone into gratuitous detail about the inner workings of vampire society, and confirmed beyond any reasonable doubt through a grisly display of fang bearing and allure demonstration, that their kind existed.

And Chan’s world fell apart. Their world, fell apart.

“Fuck!” Minho yelled, launching the short crystal glass in his hand to the opposing wall with a deafening shatter.

“W- What are we going to do?” Felix stammered, eyes watering with the revelation.

Chan shook his head, his immediate need to scream being buried with the priorities that would no doubt appear.

“We’ll be fine,” Chan exclaimed, turning to his brothers, “no one knows about us. Just because one idiot comes forward and exposes himself doesn’t mean we’ll all be found out. None of our customers know. We don’t interact with the neighbours. We’ll be fine.”

“Do you actually believe that?” Hyunjin scoffed, sweeping his hand through his blonde tresses. “The club cover is only going to work for so long. You think people won’t start catching on that we only operate at night? That we only go _out_ at night?”

“It’ll work, Hyunjin, it’s worked so far-”

“That was when people didn’t know!” He retorted, standing from his seat in challenge. “They know now, Chan! They’ll test us, even if the authorities don’t, the locals will! A group of young men, that don’t ever seem to age, all living and working together? We stick out like sore thumbs!”

“I agree,” Seungmin sighed, moving to Jeongin’s side as the younger was visibly shaking, “all the news channels are reporting on it, it’s the only thing the radios are talking about. Social media is a mess. People are scared. Angry. It’ll blow up overnight, whether we like it or not. We’re not safe here.”

Jisung nodded erratically, shooting an appealing look at Chan as he spoke through trembling hands that covered his mouth.

“They know our weaknesses now. This… this _traitor_ , he’s told them everything. The silver, the stakes, the daylight weakening, our hunting patterns, all of it. We’re sitting ducks, and all it’s going to take is one of us to slip up with a customer or something else, and we’re fucked. I say we leave right now-”

“No, fuck that,” Minho growled, cutting off Jisung’s reasoning, “we should fight. This is our home. Why should we have to leave and abandon everything we’ve worked for? We’ve done nothing wrong, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to be chased out like a rat.”

“What he said.” Changbin nodded, arms crossed over his chest indignantly. “The humans don’t stand a chance against all of us if we band together. If they come for us, they’ll die. Simple as-”

“Enough!”

Everything was happening too fast. It was too much to process, the idea that their secret had been unveiled. It would have been bad enough for one person to discover their true nature, let alone the whole world.

“What we need right now is to lay low. To stick together. As long as we don’t draw attention, don’t do anything stupid,” he snarled, shooting a pointed glare at Minho and Changbin, “we’ll be safe.”

The silence that followed was crushing. Each brother clearly having their own opinion, yet not one of them seeing a point in speaking out. Chan’s intentions were set in stone, and his preference to err on the side of caution was now theirs.

Perhaps Chan was right. Perhaps this would all simply blow over, and with a little luck, they’d be just fine.

With luck.

* * *

##### They’d gone through the motions with heavy hearts, going about their usual routine of opening the club the moment the clock struck sundown.

On the surface, it appeared to be business as usual. Each brother performing their duties with slack shoulders, and in some cases, watery eyes. Yet they had to ensure the club was fit for purpose and ready to run for the night, until they would close an hour before sunrise. They were one of the few clubs in the city that worked the admittedly unusual opening hours, and before V Day, that was considered a boon to the business, attracting customers who worked those same unusual hours themselves. Or even those of their own kind, unbeknownst to the regulars.

Yet now, as Hyunjin rightly pointed out, their hours of operation were a glaring red flag. A distinct giveaway as to their true nature, now that everyone knew the preferred times of activity for vampires.

“I still think this is a bad idea.” Seungmin sighed, cleaning the glass in his hand with a rag from the other. “We should leave, Chan.”

“And go where?” He questioned, lining up the various bottles of spirits along the rear side bar. “You know as well I do we don’t have anywhere else. This is our home. I won’t drive the others from it without a damn good reason. So I’ll take our chances.”

Seungmin simply nodded, resigning himself to the stubbornness of his leader. Though he could understand, to a point. Perhaps there was no sense in preemptively assuming the worst.

“Is everyone ready?” Chan called, earning nods and various sounds of quiet agreement from his brothers.

“Guys look,” he called again, placing his hands firmly on the bar, “I know you’re worried. I am too. But with a little caution and some common sense, we’ll get through this, and the worst of it will be over.”

Minho rolled his eyes, his shoulders still raised in tensity as they had been since the broadcast.

“Remember the basics. Don’t touch anything metal unless you’re sure it belongs to us. Don’t touch the customers, at least not with your bare hands. They’ll notice how cold you are. No using your allures. Any strange behaviour from anyone will draw too much attention.”

A groan of complaint resounded from Changbin at that instruction, yet Chan knew he’d survive the inconvenience. He’d always been one for making use of his manipulation allure to his own dominant benefit, though that was just in his nature, and Chan certainly didn’t grudge him that. He hadn’t asked for it, after all. None of them had.

“Suppress your urges,” he continued, “remember that your eyes are brighter when you’re hungry or overly emotional. The darkness in here helps, but it doesn’t hide it completely. You all know that. And no drinking, for the same reason. We need to be alert tonight. Okay?”

“Anything else?” Minho snorted, kicking his legs to a glass stained table. “Can we breathe? Is that allowed?”

“I’m doing this for you, Minho. I know you don’t like it, but this concerns all of us now. Suck it the fuck up.”

The younger brothers nodded, exchanging unsure glances between them as Chan took a deep, stabilising breath.

And so he said his tenth internal prayer of the evening while he flicked the outside neon sign to life, indicating that they, a bar full of vampires that were pretending they weren’t, were open to the public.

* * *

##### To say Chan was feeling relief would be an understatement.

It had been almost ludicrous how smoothly the evening had gone so far.

They were about as busy as usual, needing at least four of them manning the bar at any one time to ensure no one was kept waiting for their drinks. Everyone had been on their best behaviour, and that was despite the general atmosphere of the venue.

Which ranged from being hostile to downright comical. Fuelled with anger and general public outrage that only worsened as the alcohol flowed, Chan was admittedly impressed by how well they’d handled it, so far.

Meeting exclamations of disgust and appal at the speculated existence of their own kind with comments of understanding and equal disbelief had been hard at first, yet it had been relatively easy to fall into a rhythm. Almost too easy, Chan felt.

“I mean, it’s just un-fuckin’-believable don'tcha think?” The red nosed man currently propped up to the bar slurred, the beer in his hand sloshing dangerously with his motions. “Fuckin’ vampires are real? It’s a load of ol’ hogwash, I’ll tell ya!”

“You don’t think it’s true?” Chan replied, his attention focused on the dirty glasses in front of him as he entertained the drunk and his ramblings.

“No I fuckin’ don’t,” he shouted, slamming his beer to the polished oak, “it’s an outrage! A gov'ment conspiracy! They must think we’re pretty fuckin’ stupid if they believe we’ll go along with the bullshit they spout!”

A wry smile crossed Chan’s lips, before he noticed Felix next to him, doing much the same.

“What would you do if it were true?” Felix called from across the bar, his voice raised over the bustle of customers.

“Listen here young man,” the drunk pointed, stumbling on his feet as he leaned across the bar, “ya’ don’t listen to those at the top. They’re tryna’ brainwash… tryna’ get ya to- to buy into their whole protection sham! Lemme give ya’ some real advice, kiddo…”

Felix stifled a laugh, cocking his head in encouragement.

“Ya’ don’t rely on the brass. They can’t help ya’. If them creatures do turn out to be real, y'know, the vampires.” He mocked, clearly trying to whisper, though he was still very much shouting. “You get yourself a hold of a good ol’ Smith 'n Wesson 357’, and ya’ blow those fuckers heads clean to bits! Paint the ceilin’ with their innards!”

A raucous, full bellied laugh rumbled from the man as Felix’s expression dropped, his shoulders quaking gently with the scene of explicit violence he’d just been presented, aimed at his own kind. At him.

“Hey, why don’t you go to the back?” Minho mumbled, approaching Felix from the other end of the bar, having heard the exchange. “Go take five. I’ll cover you.”

Felix nodded, taking the opportunity to get away with gratitude. While Chan tensed, eyeing Minho with a sense of wary danger.

“You really think you could take a vampire old man?” Minho called, his eyes narrowing in challenge.

“I _know_ I could,” he spat, clearly missing the way he was poking a tiger, “fuckin’ freaks o’ nature. Nothin’ a quick bullet can’t fix, am I right?!”

“Minho…” Chan warned, barely an uttering to the normal human ear, but he knew Minho would have heard him.

“I’m not so sure. I think… You’d get your throat ripped clean out and your limbs torn from that disgusting body before you’d have the chance to scream.”

The drunk blinked, his vision focusing on Minho with the blatant threat that somehow seemed to seep through the alcohol in his system. Yet Minho simply smiled, all too sweet considering the words that had just left his mouth.

“That’s enough.” Chan hissed again, earning him a glare from his brother.

“Hey…” The rotund man muttered, leaning even further over the bar in Minho’s direction, his glassy eyes widening the closer he got. “Is there… Is there somethin’ wrong with yer eyes?”

Chan whipped a glance around to him, and sure enough, there was indeed something wrong.

Minho’s eyes were ablaze. The deepest shade of crimson that Chan had ever seen in him yet, fuelled by the rage and frustration he felt not just towards this alcohol induced fool, but everything else that had happened.

A quick step towards him and a firm hand on his shoulder placed him between Minho and the customer, yet Minho seemed unfazed.

“Get a hold of yourself. Right now. What did I tell you earlier?” Chan snarled, shaking his brother back to his senses.

“I can’t do this, Chan. I’ll kill this son of a bitch. I’ll kill all of them. It’s only the first night and the things I’ve heard… the things the others have heard? It’s soul destroying. They _hate_ us.”

Chan’s expression softened, his heart alight with understanding, because he’d heard them too. The condemning of their kind, the generalisations and threats of being pushed to extinction by every human in here going unchecked by them themselves, all because they couldn’t risk that happening. Couldn’t put themselves in harms way.

“I know. Minho, I do. But we can’t. You’d only put the rest of us in danger-”

“It’s unacceptable! You treat them with respect Chan, when they don’t show us the same courtesy! You know as well as I do that they’d stake us the second they got a chance, if they knew.”

“But they don’t know,” Chan soothed, desperately trying to drum a sliver of sense into him, “they’ll never know. We just need to stay in control. Tell yourself that you’re better than them, if that’s what it takes. Just… please. For me. For the others.”

Minho closed his eyes, taking several seconds to collect himself before he reopened them. And the colour had faded. A duller shade of red, still more noticeable than usual, but enough that someone induced with copious amounts of alcohol wouldn’t quite be able to tell, as long as they didn’t look too hard.

A tangible wave of relief washed over Chan, his hand tightening on Minho’s shoulder in gratitude.

“Thank you-”

But it was for naught.

A shrill, hair-raising scream swept through the club, almost deafening Chan and every one of his brothers with the impact, though it did nothing to the customers but draw their attention. An immediate pit formed in Chan’s stomach, Minho springing to action like a reactive tiger.

Chan turned, time seeming to slow with the way Minho misted from his side, a clear demonstration of vampire ability.

Not that it would make a difference now.

He saw Jisung, a limp heap on the floor, his body trembling and hand clutched to his chest as the raw, sickening odour of burning flesh filled the room. At his side lay a small metal coin, encrusted with the skin it had claimed, it appeared to be imprinted with the letter 'V’.

V Day propaganda. An anti-vampire toy, at best. No doubt the product of some less than tolerant company capitalising on public fear.

Before Jisung’s quivering form, stood a raging Changbin, fangs exposed and eyes alight with the blood red crimson that signified his descent into madness, aimed at the girl who was responsible for the scream, and no doubt the presentation of the coin that had hurt his brother. He was on the brink of attack, ready to pounce on the screaming girl at any second, until Minho materialised behind him, pulling him from his place in a display of brute strength, his own fangs bared for all to see.

It was a helpless reaction. Chan knew that. They were acting on instinct. Instinct to protect, and to destroy that which posed a threat to their family.

So Chan could only watch. He could do nothing but tumble into a canyon of despair.

Because they’d been exposed. Despite being so careful, despite all Chan’s hopes and assurances of safety for his brothers, despite everything.

It was over for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	8. Chapter 8

##### To say you’d listened to Chan’s sad tale with a heavy heart would have been an understatement.

Helpless tears pricked at your eyes, the bitterness of the whole thing seeming too unfair to be real. From the way they’d tried to remain blended, operating and working together as a family to contribute to the very human society that condemned them in the end, to the desperately painful way they’d been chased from their club. Their home.

You’d never thought. Never contemplated what V Day had meant for the vampires aside from the base facts and glaring obvious.

On the surface, you’d known that things had descended into chaos before they improved at all, with the war and general genocide of vampires across the globe being the first thing that occurred before WAHVA was established and a measure of control secured. You knew the casualties were innumerable, on both sides.

Yet hearing it _from_ a vampire, hearing their story and their personal experience, had been crushing. It made the atrocities they’d suffered seem that much more real, and you wondered for a moment if it made any difference that it was coming from Chan.

If it had been a different vampire, one that you weren’t so familiar with… Would you have been so outwardly affected? Would you have been struck with such a desire to make things right for them? To help them heal?

You couldn’t be sure.

“So there it is.” Chan sighed, fiddling with a lump of wax he’d picked from one of the candles. It was a distraction, you were sure. Something to take his mind off feeling that pain all over again as he recounted his tale.

You cleared your throat, blinking rapidly as you tried to stop the tears from falling free.

“What happened after you left the club?” You asked, though you were somewhat aware of the answer. He’d told you before about their wanderings, mentioned it in passing.

Chan shrugged, moulding the wax between his fingers.

“We were misplaced for a long time. Moved around a lot, but we were hard pushed to find a realtor or any landlord that would deal with us. We lived like beggars… Squatting in apartments, houses, whatever we could find for as long we could, which was never more than a few weeks before we were found or attacked.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing as he recalled the painful memories.

“The youngers… Jisung and Lix. They’re faebloods. They can fight, sure. But they’re nowhere near as equipped for it as the rest of us. It’s just not in their blood. I lost count of how many times they wound up injured because of my fucking failure to protect them.”

“Chan, it’s not your-”

“Eventually ended up at an abandoned factory just outside of town, with others of our kind. Lost souls.” He continued, dismissing your attempt at consolation. “But…”

He seemed to hesitate, the memory lingering on the tip of his tongue.

“But what?” You coaxed gently.

“We, uh… We didn’t stay. We couldn’t. The others we were with, they turned out to be different in the end. Lived most of their lives blood drunk, gorging on it to the point where it wasn’t just for nutrition anymore. It was a sport.”

You shook your head in quiet disbelief, knowing full well what he meant when he said they were ‘different’. Those were the kinds of vampires you’d dealt with until now during your missions for WAHVA, the ones that had lost themselves to their urges, drowned themselves in the call of the thirst. Indeed, Chan and his clan could be considered the exception.

“Being around that kind of depravity… It wasn’t good for us, Y/N. We almost lost what we were. Changbin and Seungmin especially. They found it harder than the rest of us when we adapted to a life of minimalism anyway, only drinking when we needed it instead of when we wanted it. But I guess that’s just in their nature too. Hazebloods are always more for indulgence, they can’t help it.”

That didn’t surprise you, despite Chan’s nonchalant confirmations on the Class A blood strains they held. The two of them had seemed more hot-headed than the others anyway, their tendencies and personalities screaming that of self-importance and grandeur. You supposed that also ran in their blood.

“So,” Chan sighed, once again twirling the wax between his fingertips, “we left. Kept wandering, putting ourselves back together as best we could.”

“How… did you end up here?” You asked quietly, utterly enraptured with his story, your legs curled beneath you in a huddle.

Chan smiled, his first one of the evening since you’d been here with him, and it immediately warmed you to the promise of good news.

“Minho, believe it or not. He found this place. Even now, I don’t know how he did it. He just came back from a hunt one day and said that he had something to show us. It felt too good to be true at the time.”

You brought your hand to your chest, your head resting on the back of the sofa as images of the family finding this long abandoned mansion, in the middle of nowhere, played out in your head. You pictured their faces, the smiles and laughs of exasperation that perhaps they could finally be safe. It did nothing to quell your urge to cry.

“Before we knew it, we were moved in. We had walls again. A roof over our head. Somewhere to lick our wounds and call home, as insane as it seemed.”

You smiled helplessly, a tear rolling free despite yourself. It was like hearing the happy ending of a fairy tale, one that you’d never thought could affect you in such a way.

“And it _was_ insane, Y/N.” Chan muttered, holding the wax carefully. “The others… they were so fucking tired. Exhausted in every way. We did nothing but sleep for the first few days we were here.”

“But things got better?”

“They did. And I know that in some way, that was thanks to WAHVA. When they first got off the ground, we could feel that things had died down. It took time, but we were able to venture into the city, and the differences were barely believable. No riots, no protests. No anti-vamp propaganda anywhere in sight. We were almost tempted to approach them first with all the good things we’d heard.”

“Almost?”

He nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Almost. The others were apprehensive about it… I couldn’t blame them for that. I felt it myself. After everything we’d been through, humans were the last people we wanted to put our trust in.”

You listened intently, suppressing the urge to interrupt him with questions you knew he’d probably end up answering eventually.

“Then they found us.” He sighed.

“How did that happen?”

“We got complacent, I guess. Lazy.” He shrugged, shooting you a sideways glance. “Being where we are means we don’t get good access to human blood, so our hunting was haphazard at best. Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin and Seungmin would go out into the forest and get what they needed. Animals, mostly. Then I’d take the others. But we left too much behind, patterns that they tracked here, to us.”

You nodded, knowing that WAHVA was second to none when it came to tracking down stray vampires families.

“An Envoy turned up at the door one day. All shiny bells and whistles, bright smile from ear to ear. Wanted to talk to us about joining their association. We entertained her for a little while.”

“Mhm, I read the report.” You replied, recalling the lacklustre debrief WAHVA had given you when this had all begun. “It wasn’t very helpful though.”

Chan nodded, clearly recounting the enrolment interviews with the Envoy.

“She grilled us. Asked us questions from a clipboard and wrote down everything we answered with. Lix got a bad feeling about her the second she walked through the door. I should have listened.”

Another trait that didn’t render you shocked. Felix had always seemed extra intuitive to you, and his blood strain only reinforced that. Faebloods and their inherent connection to emotions were a rare breed indeed.

“What did she ask?”

“What didn’t she ask?” Chan countered, prying the wax into different shapes as he spoke. “She wanted to know how many humans each of us has killed. How many of our own we’ve killed. Wanted to know how often we feed. How we came to be here, how old we are, what our structure was… Routine stuff, on the surface.”

You knew better than to assume the line of questioning was routine in any way. It seemed to you, that it was data collection at its’ finest. The more kills, the stronger. The older, the wiser. It was all connected.

“The problems started when she poked for information on our blood strains.”

You shifted in your seat, sensing the change in his demeanour.

“It got the others backs up,” Chan continued, his tone low. “They could smell the bullshit from a mile off. Plus she wanted to do tests on us, for identification, or something I guess. We refused, obviously.”

He stopped momentarily, shoulders tensed with what he was about to say, and that could have been for any number of reasons.

“Our blood strains… Our allures that come from them. They’re what makes us, Y/N. When everything went down, they were essentially all we had left. Raw strength and speed is great, but it’s also a good way to induce bloodshed. We didn’t want that if we could help it, if only because of the mess it would have left behind. We were already on the run. Leaving piles of bodies in our wake wouldn’t have done us any good.”

He paused, his jaw clenching with tensity.

“It’s… hard to explain in terms you’d understand,” he stammered, shaking his head, “but aside from the power it gives us, our blood binds us. Gives us a sense of… identity? A purpose?”

“No, I do understand.” You whispered.

And for the most part, you did. You could understand that a shared sense of bonding could be wrought from those with the same blood strain, and with them all being rare blooded, or Class A’s according to WAHVA’s categorisation system, you could see how their union came to be, even if you didn’t have the details. With the absence of actual life within them, you imagined their blood to be the next most connective thing. The only thing that remained of their human lives, so to speak.

Chan smiled, though it wasn’t genuine.

“Either way, we don’t share that information lightly. If ever. So it ended with me escorting the Envoy out before she got hurt.”

“But… didn’t you agree to join them? WAHVA assigned me to your family to re-establish contact, so you must have agreed something with them.”

Chan nodded quietly, pursing his lips in thought.

“We agreed that we’d sign to their contract, make use of their apparent protection and services, access to the blood dispensaries, that kind of thing. We agreed to let them keep us on record and traceable, if that’s what it took for them to leave us alone. Just as long as they didn’t try to get us on board with their fucking volunteer programme.”

“And they allowed that?” You asked, disbelief latent in your voice.

“Yeah. At first,” Chan muttered, “but after a while, we started hearing rumours about other clans disappearing. They got worse every time we went into the city. Might not seem like it, but vampires can be tight knit when we want to be. We got it on good authority that WAHVA was responsible for the vanishings. The clans that went missing were well known for being self sufficient, strong… They’d never have accepted the offers those people made.”

“That’s when you cut off contact…?”

You knew you were asking too much, but this opportunity was too good to pass up. If it would help you understand, help you relate to their reasons for ditching WAHVA, perhaps you could even talk to the Company when you were eventually set free, negotiate a deal of some kind on their behalf. There had to be something you could do.

He hummed in response, the wax lump between his absent fingers now forming into a shape that you couldn’t quite make out. Though it seemed to be helping him stay focused.

“It wasn’t just that. They broke our agreement. Started making offers, each one more lavish and fucking ridiculous than the last, begging us to get involved with the volunteering shit. I don’t know what was in that report your friend made-”

“She wasn’t my friend, I don’t even know her Chan.” You retorted, not appreciating the generalisation that you knew every single person that worked for WAHVA.

“S- Sorry. Uh, well… I don’t know what she took away from our enrolment interviews, but I guess I underestimated her. WAHVA seemed to clock on to the fact that we’re vampires of rare strains, if nothing else. Perhaps the first ones they’d come across. So… they were set on having us in their programmes. Wanted us to train up the next generation of vampire killers for them.”

You took a deep breath at his statement, sweeping your hand through your hair.

“The Envoys don’t kill, Chan. Neither do I, for that matter. It defeats the whole point of what we- _they_ are trying to do. They’re just the middle men, the point of contact between the families and the Company. They’re the only ones that go through the allure training, and they need the protection. Believe me-”

“Y/N,” Chan sighed, turning in his seat to face you directly. “Do you honestly, truly believe that? Do you seriously think that a company that big _only_ uses us to train their people in self-defence?”

You stopped for a moment, at a loss for words. Because in truth, you didn’t know. Couldn’t be sure if that was the only thing they used the vampire volunteers for. Until Chan answered for you.

“They don’t. They use us, to teach humans to kill us. Think about how stupid it would be for them to ignore the threat we pose. I’m not naive to it, Y/N… I know some of us are blood drunk animals, and that those probably are better off being put down, because there’s no coming back from that. But I’ll be even more damned than I already am if my brothers or I are going to help them do that, in however small a way.”

He paused, his gaze drifting to the candles behind you, the flickering flame reflected in the crimson of his eyes.

“I still don’t know if I believe it or not, Chan. I just don’t see how they’d get away with that.”

“Doesn’t matter if you believe it or not. It won’t stop happening. Because no one cares, Y/N… No one gives a fuck about a few misplaced vampires. They’re so busy preaching about the protection they offer us and the rights we should have, fighting the good fight on the surface, that the deaths and disappearances don’t get a chance to make it to the news headlines. Not that they ever could, I’m sure. It’s all about keeping up appearances, right?”

His expression was sad. Defeated, almost. As if everything he’d lost, everything he’d been through with his family was weighing on him once again.

“I don’t even know why I’m calling them volunteers,” he muttered quietly, “they’re prisoners, really. If they don’t work with WAHVA, they’ll be hunted. They’ll disappear just like all the others, at the hands of the very people my kind trained. So fuck them.”

“Are you worried you’ll disappear too?”

“No.” Chan replied firmly. “I won’t let that happen. That’s why you’re still here, remember?”

As if you’d been allowed a chance to forget.

“Right…”

Another pause, interrupted only by the gentle crackling of the bare candles surrounding you.

“You, uh… You do realise they didn’t send you here just to re-establish contact?”

You cocked your head in questioning, not following where he was going.

“What?”

“I mean… I don’t know for sure, obviously.” He muttered, balancing the wax creation in his hand. “But I’d wager there’s more to it than what they’re telling you. The whole thing just feels off.”

As much as you’d listened and related in some way or another to much of his story, this was the one thing you couldn’t quite get on board with. 

You could rationalise his reasons for believing WAHVA was behind the vampire family disappearances. You could understand why they wouldn’t want any involvement in the volunteer programme. Could even go so far as to believe that perhaps WAHVA were using the programmes for more outwardly offensive purposes.

But they had no reason to deceive _you_. Yes, you were privy to some of WAHVA’s dirtier secrets inasmuch as the reigning and tracking jobs they had you do from time to time, but at the end of it all, if things ever went south and blood was spilled, it would simply boil down to a case of your word against theirs.

A freelance Envoy with loose morals and a quick temper, against the astute and righteous Worldwide Association for Human and Vampire Affairs, in all their corporate glory.

You posed no threat to them. You knew it. So why would they send you on a goose chase such as this?

“Chan, there’s no reason for them to do that. I’m less than nothing to them. They…” You paused, hanging your head for a moment as you were struck with bleak reality, “… haven’t even sent anyone for me. I’m sure I haven’t had so much as a call from my contact there. I’m a nobody.”

Chan pursed his lips, tentatively reaching out as he placed his hand on yours. You froze almost instantly, the cold of his touch seeping through your skin.

“That’s not true,” he muttered, turning your hand over, uncurling your fingers gently, “you’ve got more personality than any human I’ve ever met.”

You were sure that was supposed to be a compliment, despite the backhanded way it came across. The careful smile that crossed your lips was helpless.

“You think?”

“I know.” He stated, absently smoothing out the creases of your fingers. “You surprise me all the time.”

A subtle flush rose to your cheeks as he touched you, his words and entire demeanour appearing far softer than anything you’d seen from him so far. It was throwing you off.

“I do?” You asked, unsure why you needed the second confirmation.

He hummed in response, his gaze flicking up to you before it dropped again.

“You surprised me last night.”

You’d wondered when that was coming. You almost dared to think you’d gotten away with it, the flush to your cheeks only worsening with the recollection of the vulnerable state he’d seen you in.

“Y- Yeah… I, uh… I don’t know what I was thinking.” You stammered, hoping he’d take that for hint of a subject change.

“You weren’t. I know that.”

You suddenly wanted him to elaborate. While you could admit that you’d been subject to a moment of madness with Minho, that wasn’t to say you _regretted_ what you’d done, or been about to do. His assumption that you hadn’t been thinking clearly at all wasn’t quite accurate.

“W- Well, I don’t know about that, Chan… I knew what I was doing. I just don’t know what came over me, I guess.”

“So why didn’t you just come to me?”

Your eyes flew open at the unprecedented question, the nonchalant implication behind it presenting a whole set of new problems that you simply hadn’t been prepared for.

“W- What?”

His gaze met yours, his other hand curving over your palm as he held you there. He blinked twice, his expression of innocence in stark contrast to the words that had just left his mouth.

“Come to me, next time you feel that way. I can help.”

“Help? H- Help how?” You babbled, unsure if the two of you were even having the same conversation with the way he being so blasé about it.

“Well…” He mused, long fingers soothing the soft skin of your palm. “My allure. Did you forget already?”

The allure. You definitely hadn’t forgotten, and immediately wanted to kick yourself for daring to think he meant something else. Why would he bother with the more physical displays of intimacy when all he had to do was wink at someone to get them to fall to their knees in bliss? It made a morbid sort of sense. But at least now you had confirmation of his intentions, as mildly disappointing as they were.

“Oh, of course…” You sighed, marginally relaxing. “The pleasure thing, right?”

“Mhm, the pleasure thing.”

He was amused, clearly. Though you were still having a hard time focusing.

“Although…” He muttered again, lacing his fingers into the gaps between yours. “I do prefer to do things the old fashioned way.”

You almost gave yourself whiplash with the way your head snapped up in shock, the sense of bewilderment setting in anew with his bold proposition. His expression remained entirely unreadable, an almost unsettling lack of emotion on his features. Like he hadn’t just offered what he had, in the most flippant way possible.

“I- I don’t, uh… I’m not-”

He cocked his head, raising a single pierced eyebrow in questioning, as if trying to coax something out of you, and that only made you panic all the more. What were you supposed to say? Yes please? If you don’t mind? Tell him you’d check your schedule?

“Ch- Chan, I…”

“I’m kidding.” He eventually relented, clearly picking up on your suffering.

The relief that swept over you was immediate, yet you couldn’t help but feel like the tensity that had set into the air was a product of the way he was still holding your hand. He was no longer cold to touch, but rather warmer than before.

You exhaled a breath of air, shoulders relaxing despite the colour to your cheeks that you knew wouldn’t disappear quite so easily for a while.

“You… You can’t say stuff like that. You’ll give me a coronary.” You whined, avoiding eye contact.

He hummed in response, still not giving anything away.

“Well we can’t have that now, can we?”

Patting your palm gently, he removed his hands from yours, curling your fingers over as he did so. He stood from the sofa with a nonchalant grace, giving you the most effortless smile you’d ever seen from him.

“Oh, by the way,” he exclaimed, sweeping his hand through his hair before he gestured towards you, “that’s a new shirt, right?”

The question was utterly out of place, considering what had just happened.

“N- No… I’ve had it for a while, it’s not new-”

“So Minho did take you out.”

_Shit._

You’d hoped he wouldn’t find out, but now that you thought about it, you weren’t sure how you’d have gotten away with it. He was bound to notice sooner or later that you weren’t wearing the same clothes you’d arrived in all those days ago.

You swallowed hard, biting on your bottom lip as you waited for the scolding you were sure was coming.

Yet it didn’t. Chan simply sighed quietly, spinning on his heel as he began to walk away.

“Go back to your room. I’ll have Jisung fetch you soon, he’ll take you to your new one. Working door included.”

You watched as he disappeared into the deeper shadows of the library, back through the shelves and bookcases that lined this place. And it was only when you were alone, surrounded on all sides by the comfortable silence that lingered, that you noticed the item in your hand.

Uncurling your fingers carefully, the small wax object that Chan had been fiddling with during your conversation. Yet it was no longer simply a lump of wax.

It had been formed into a perfect rose, articulately crafted with his nails and fingers. The deep creases of the petals were stark and defined, while still being beautifully curved and smooth. Off-white in colour, still soft to the touch, and you immediately flattened your palm for fear you’d ruin it.

And your heart wrenched all over again.

* * *

##### “Knock, knock!”

You looked up from your bedside to see Jisung stood at the battered door frame of your room, the absence of an actual door meaning he had to resort to more verbal displays of entrance.

“You ready to go?”

A helpless smile broke out across your face as he sauntered into your room, his oversized hoodie and sweats all but drowning his lithe form. His energy was infectious, and you found yourself thinking how easy it would be to forget that he was a vampire at all, if it wasn’t for the deep red shade to his large eyes.

“I’m ready.” You beamed, hopping off the bed and grabbing your suitcase.

“Let me!” He countered, jogging over to you and snatching the case from your hand before you had a chance to complain. “I’m good for some things, you know.”

You rolled your eyes at him, quite content to let him help if it made him feel useful.

“So where are we going? Down the hall?” You asked, following him out of your room and starting down the corridor at a leisurely pace.

“Nope.” Jisung replied, shaking his head with far more force than was necessary.

“No? Where then?”

“You’ll see.”

You were admittedly intrigued, especially knowing that it wasn’t like Jisung to be cagey with things. But you were sure that was for dramatic effect.

And so, you followed him through the winding corridors of the estate, eventually approaching an area you recognised as the grand central room, and you marvelled once again at the magnificent glass ceiling that adorned it. The colours seemed duller than before, yet that could have been down to the time of day, and the lower natural light levels that came with the approaching dusk. But it was still just as stunning.

“This way.” Jisung gestured, noticing the way you’d slowed with your appreciation for the room.

“Right. Sorry.” You laughed, jogging to catch up with him, the two of you walking to the other side of the second floor balcony and through an archway into a new corridor you’d never entered before.

“It’s pretty, right?” He exclaimed, in reference to the stained glass ceiling.

You nodded in response, though you were unsure his choice of word was the right one to describe it.

“Always makes me wonder who lived here before us.” He mused, the gentle dragging of the wheels on your suitcase echoing through the space.

“You don’t know?”

“Nah. It was empty when we arrived. They must’ve been pretty rich though.”

You cast your mind back to Chan’s tale, recalling how he’d told you that Minho was the one to come across this place, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Minho found it, right? Doesn’t he have an idea?”

Jisung shrugged, pursing his lips in thought as you walked.

“Don’t think so. He said it was abandoned. I mean, we all have an idea just from the state of the place. Expensive taste, but they clearly didn’t care too much. You think it’s bad now, but you should have seen it when we got here.” He laughed, leading the way. “How would Minho know?”

“I guess he wouldn’t,” you mumbled, turning the corner with him as you continued down towards your new abode, “but hey, I’m curious too. Maybe they were nobles or something.”

Jisung nodded, eyes wide with imagination.

“Or a rich CEO’s holiday home?”

You responded with a mock gasp, speaking under your breath as you nudged him.

“Or… the secret love shack of a master and his mistress?”

“Y/N!” Jisung giggled, looking at you in feigned shock. “That’s scandalous!”

And then he paused, rethinking his statement.

“Kinda hot though…”

You couldn’t help the laughter that escaped you as he added that last comment, the two of you continuing further into the candlelit hallways, speculating all the way about the possibilities of who might have called this place home before they’d moved in.

Until you came to a newer looking area of the estate, the corridors gradually transforming from the timeworn, faded decor you’d come to know, to something far fresher. Like a new coat of paint had been applied to these surfaces, there simply seemed to be a sense of life in this wing.

Jisung paused before a gilded door at the end, shooting you a look over his shoulder.

“So,” he sighed, gesturing towards the door, “just so you know, this wasn’t my idea. I actually think it’s a terrible idea. But Chan gave me strict instructions, okay?”

You nodded in confusion, following him through the doorway that branched out into another corridor, just as clean as what you’d walked through.

Doors, some closed and some open barely an inch or two, lined the walls on both sides. All the way down to the end, where a large bay window stood proud. The golden hue of the setting sun shone through it, lighting the tail end of the hall just enough for you to tell that it was roughly about the same size as the wing you’d just come from. That, coupled with the faint sounds of music and something resembling the mumbling of a television, led you to your next thought.

“Ji? Is this…?”

“Yeah.” Jisung sighed, confirming your suspicions.

“B- But, why?”

He shrugged in defeat, his eyes telling you that he wished he had an answer for you.

So you didn’t push it, knowing that if Chan was really responsible for your moving into the East Wing, _their_ wing, Jisung was simply just doing as he was told. As you would.

Wandering down to the end of the corridor, you stopped before a closed door at the very end, adjacent to the window. Jisung fished a key from his pocket, handing it to you.

“Go ahead.”

You complied, sliding the key into the lock and cracking the door open an inch before you stepped over the threshold.

And what was inside, took you completely by surprise.

The most neatly presented room you’d seen in a long time, laden with soft furnishings and luxurious decorations. It seemed entirely out of place here with the way every part of it was pristine and crisp.

Gold and dark wood trimmings lined the wall in intricate patterns, though the walls themselves were coated with a glossy, dark red sheen. Thick blackout curtains were draped over the two large floor length windows, a notable king sized, four poster bed placed between them. The bed itself was laden with silk and satin sheets of deep purple and crimson, a soft black throw covering the foot of it beautifully. The dark oak shelves and sizeable desk were empty, but they simply begged for your personal effects. A soft grey carpet beneath your feet offset the rest of the room perfectly, and you couldn’t help but feel like this had been created, for _you_. To suit your tastes down to a fault.

“It’s…”

“Insane, right? You should thank Minho.” Jisung muttered, dragging your case into the room after you.

“Minho?”

The boy laughed, sweeping his sleeve across his forehead as he slung your case to the neatly made up bed.

“Guess he paid attention when he snuck you out to your place? He sorted all of this. Don’t know how he did but, yeah. The man’s a marvel.”

You could barely believe what you’d just heard. Had he really gone to these lengths just for you? And if so, to what end? He’d been crystal clear in drawing the boundaries between you, stating that whatever your relationship was, it could be nothing more than a simple avenue of stress relief.

But this…? Surely it went past the realms of anything platonic or business-like in nature.

“I don’t know what to say…”

“How about thank you?”

The sound of a deeper voice that was assuredly not Jisung’s made you jump with fright, and you whipped around to see the man responsible for all this, leaning against the frame of your door in that manner he always did.

“Okay… Think it’s time I get going.” Jisung coughed, scurrying out of the room and past a smug looking Minho, before you had a chance to complain. “See you later, Y/N!”

Minho waved him off, before turning his attention back to you.

He took a single step inside, hands shoved in his pockets as he walked with a nonchalant grace that made your chest tighten with anticipation. Though that happened whenever he was around, these days.

“Do you like it?”

You nodded in awe, trying to find the words that would encapsulate your gratitude and failing miserably.

“I love it. You… really did this?”

“Damn right.” He smiled, dragging a finger over the spotless surface of your new desk. “Thought it’d make you feel more at home.”

_At home…?_

“Your studio apartment looked a bit like this, right? Or the colours, anyway. I couldn’t do much about the flooring and the layout, this place is so old, but maybe I can add interior designer to the long list of things I’m incredible at-”

“Minho,” you interrupted, taking a step closer to him, “what are you doing?”

He cocked his head at you, clear confusion on his face.

“What am I doing?” He repeated.

“Why did you do this? You want me to feel at home?”

He nodded, your growing annoyance and frustration going straight over his head.

“Why? Is this place my home?”

“No… I suppose it’s not,” he muttered, his brow creasing, “but while you’re here there’s no reason you shouldn’t-”

“There’s every reason! There’s a hundred reasons I shouldn’t feel at home here!” You exclaimed, losing your patience in the mess of confusion you were experiencing.

One moment he’s taking you home to get your things. The next he’s telling you you’re good for nothing more than a fuck, that you can’t get attached. Then he creates attachments, gives you a place of your own, goes out of his way to make sure you feel comfortable in it.

The back and forth was exhausting, and that coupled with the way he was looking at you was sending you into a worse state than you knew.

“We’ve both said it! This is all just temporary… So why?”

He paused, clearly hanging on words that he was hesitant to speak, and you couldn’t possibly have predicted what those were. Because he was nothing but unpredictable.

“Y/N,” he sighed, exasperation rife in his tone, “you know it as well as I do. And I think you’ve known it all along. This can’t be temporary. We can’t ever let you go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ Feedback via [Tumblr](https://jl-micasea.tumblr.com/) or on AO3  
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	9. Chapter 9

##### “This can’t be temporary. We can’t ever let you go.”

Perhaps you had known, somewhere on an unconscious level. That the moment you’d set foot in this cursed estate, you’d never be free, in all senses of the word. Or at least, not in the same way you’d come in.

And you were fully aware that that could be in reference to your living, breathing state being taken away from you.

Maybe this was the reality check you’d needed. This act of kindness that had taken you by surprise initially, now served as a plentiful reminder that you were a prisoner here, and your recent complacency with the situation wasn’t deserved. It wasn’t right.

You’d almost forgotten the circumstances under which you were here at all.

“You can’t keep me here forever.”

“But we can.” Minho sighed, reclining against your desk. “We have nothing but time, sweetheart. Or, time enough to see your life cycle through.”

Technically, he was right. They did have nothing but time. Yet you didn’t, and that was brutally apparent in what he’d just said.

“So what? You’re going to wait out the clock? Hope I die of old age if something else doesn’t get me first? Come on, Minho, that can’t happen.”

“Can’t it?” He challenged, clearly amused.

“WAHVA will come for me eventually. And if they don’t, I’ll save myself. I’ll escape. You can’t have a watch on me every hour of every day, and god help you if I get my weapons back-”

A sudden gust of wind swept up from around you, a pure show of momentum that knocked you several step backwards. All too quickly, Minho appeared mere inches before you, the blinking of your eyes as you steadied yourself rendering it missable. And you wanted to damn your heart for the way it picked up speed with his proximity.

“I know,” he muttered quietly, his frozen fingers sweeping down the side of your face in a gesture far too affectionate for the standoff, “that you didn’t just threaten me, sweetheart.”

You swallowed with the veiled threat, your cheek tingling a trace of cold, yet refused to let it get to you on the surface, as much as your insides were churning.

“What if I did?”

He choked back a laugh, unsurprised with your tenacity.

“If you did? I’d humour you for a while, I suppose. But sooner or later I’d have to remind you that threatening me is a particularly stupid thing to do.”

“You’d hurt an unarmed woman?”

“I’ve done worse.”

“I’m sure…”

The exchange was ice cold, and it only seemed to exacerbate the fire in your core. The fire that was burning with blatant wanting for the man before you as he coaxed you into the state he was clearly pushing for.

His careful, tentative steps led you backwards, from your starting position in the middle of the room, to the end of your new poster bed.

You could feel it happening before you’d registered it. The way you drowned in him, over and over again, when all he had to do was look at you like that.

“You talk a big talk, kitten,” he purred, taking hold of the posts at either side of you, large hands curling around the polished wooden beams to cage you in, “but we both know you don’t actually want to leave. Do you?”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh, but I do. Let’s see…” He mused, pursing his lips.

“I know that you’re already settled in here.” He quipped, his voice low. “That you were a little too prepared to go along with the whole thing, in fact. I still wonder why you didn’t fight it harder.”

“I did try to-”

He released one of the posts to raise a warning hand to you, silencing your irrelevant retort.

“I know that you fancy yourself some kind of survivor. A fighter. A self-proclaimed tamer of my kind, right? You’ll excuse me for wanting to see that before I believe it.”

“I’m a freelance Envoy, Minho. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my-”

A single look was all it took this time to quiet you, a narrowing of his eyes that told you you were better off not finishing that sentence.

“I also know… that you want me.”

Perhaps it was the fact that he was correct on every account. Perhaps it was the unbearable level of sheer smug satisfaction written all over his face, or the uncanny way he seemed to know you better than you knew yourself, in such a relatively short space of time.

Or perhaps it was a singular moment of madness on your part, that accounted for what you did next. An irreverent need to prove him wrong, born from nothing but spite.

Because you couldn’t have it. Couldn’t cope with a vampire knowing your innermost thoughts, reading you like an open book. Sparking a latent fear in you, yet not a fear of him or the threat he posed, and perhaps that could have been considered idiotic. You certainly felt it so. Yet either way, your fear was one born of limerence. A fear of letting him in the way he was threatening to, with the little pushes and references to familiarity that nudged open the door to your affections a little more each time.

It would condemn you in the end. Your gut told you that. Chan’s warning had told you that.

And so you steeled yourself, hand rising to your chest in as subtle a manner as you could manage, though your current proximity to the vampire meant nothing you did now would go unnoticed.

Minho watched as you clutched at the wild rose pendant around your neck, his eyes only widening when he saw the whites of your knuckles tense in readiness.

“What are you-”

You could barely believe he hadn’t reacted in time. Hadn’t caught on to your intentions, your severely lacking sense of self preservation returning to you with vigorous ferocity.

“Is this what you need to see to believe?”

You ripped the necklace from your throat, holding the pendant in your palm. Turning it on him, you held it flat as you capitalised on the opening of his silk shirt, pressing it to the chest it exposed so wonderfully.

And the reaction was immediate.

A sickening odour of burning flesh permeated the air as his perfect caramel skin sizzled beneath your touch. You had anticipated the fierce growl that resounded from him, had been prepared for the near instantaneous reaction on his part as he recoiled from you, a bubbling growl of unadulterated rage and anguish hissing from him at what you’d dared to do.

He clutched his chest where the skin remained soiled, his eyes blazing with a shade of blood red that you recognised as the precursor to a counterattack, his fangs protruding from under his plump top lip. Yet while you knew that this was surface damage at best, you supposed the damage you’d just done to his ego was of far more precedence.

You’d never felt regret so immediate. So tangibly, now that the cursed deed was done.

A crack of his neck signified his intentions as he seemed to collect himself, his vision focused on you, puffs of breath escaping him as his nostrils flared with rage.

An instinctive need to scream for help took over, yet any new arrival to this scene would surely mean your downfall. This wasn’t exactly explainable. You couldn’t make an excuse or talk your way out of it. His brothers were just as likely to pounce on you as Minho was about to.

“You have five fucking seconds… to explain yourself-”

“You… You think I’m weak. That I can’t do anything, that I’m not capable of handling things.” You interrupted, stilling your quaking shoulders as you tried to find the justifications you were sure you had a moment ago.

“So what?” He growled, his eyes flashing with his own resolve. “That was you proving a fucking point?”

You supposed that was what you had been trying to do, in the grand scheme of things. But now you weren’t so sure. Had you wanted to hurt him?

“Well now you know I can take care of myself-”

“Yeah? Using nasty little tricks like that is the best you can do?”

“You think you know everything!” You yelled, unable to contain the mixture of latent fear and frustration he roused in you. “That you’ve got me all figured out! But you don’t. You don’t know who I am, or the things I’ve done. You don’t know…”

“Do I have to know who you are to kill you?”

“Y- You won’t kill me.”

“Won’t I? Call me childish, kitten, but now it’s tit for tat.”

You took a further step back as he sauntered towards you, your heart rate increasing helplessly, yet you had no more room for movement. You promptly fell back to the bed as your knees buckled on the edge of it, helpless to do much more other than watch as he glossed his tongue over his bottom lip, as if imagining the taste of the meal to come.

“It’s such a shame.” He muttered quietly. “We could have had much more fun than this, kitten. I’d actually intended to pick up where we left off the other night.”

Vivid recollections of the way he’d touched you, the things he’d made you feel came back to you, sending a shudder down your spine. You could only hope he hadn’t noticed, for your own sake. You couldn’t allow him to get under your skin any deeper than he already had.

“Why would you even want to have that kind of fun with someone like me, Minho? I’m weak, remember?”

“Maybe I’ve my own weakness for fragile things…”

“I’m not a fragile thing,” you retorted, squaring your shoulders as best you could manage. “I don’t want to pick anything up with you, ever.”

He stifled a laugh, sinking to his knees before you, crimson irises piercing yours. Though the rage had mostly dissipated, the look in them all too familiar now that he was this close. They held the same glint they had that night in your room, the night you’d come so close to having him.

It only made your hair stand on end, your breaths coming shorter.

“You probably don’t know it…” he mumbled, taking his lip between his bottom teeth for just a moment, “but there are differences in a heartbeat. From person to person, from emotion to emotion. The way a heart thuds in fear… it’s distinct. Like the booming of a war drum, it tells of things much worse to come. Panicked and fast. Far too fast.”

You shook your head gently, not following his monologue with the ease you would have had he not been this close.

“But a heart that thuds in excitement? In trepidation? It’s a sound so beautiful it’s enough to make the strongest man buckle. Loud and full… sometimes irregular. But always steadily rising, simply bursting with such promise.”

“I… I don’t-”

“I admire that you’re not making this easy,” he continued, “but your heart is full, kitten. I hear it. I hear it when we pass in the corridor. When you smile at me or steal a glance that you think I don’t notice. That irreverent little beat that just skips, once or twice.”

You almost felt it yourself. As if his words had physical hold over you, the skip in your chest that was entirely involuntary. And the smile that crossed him, the gentle playing of affection on his lips told you he heard it too.

“This is… it’s just adrenaline…” You stammered, a bare faced lie as every muscle in your body tensed.

A gentle hum emanated from him in response. He didn’t believe it. Nor did you.

“Your body doesn’t lie, Y/N. It can’t. And I like that.”

Any response you could have formed caught in your throat, his words saccharine in your ears.

He held your gaze intently as his large hands splayed out across your knees, fingertips to palms. Your legs were prised apart gently, slowly, as though every moment was something to be savoured. Butterflies took flight in your gut, that helpless little skip coming back tenfold with the anticipation of things to come.

Yet something about this seemed different than before.

Something was off.

Minho… he appeared to glow. He took on an unearthly visage, your core tightening as though he were touching your very sex simply through the way he was looking at you. A hazing dizziness swept through your mind, and you were forced to blink several times to keep your vision clear of the red hued fog that seemed to bleed into your peripherals.

An unwanted fire swept through you, searing hot and all too quickly, it was only seconds before it rooted inside you.

It was overwhelming, the sensation that set in with the fire. You supposed it could be described as nothing other than undiluted lust. A raw, crushing desire to fuck this man, to give yourself to him in every sense of the word, until you could no longer breathe nor stand.

You could damn the consequences tomorrow.

You didn’t have the capacity to realise, in that moment, that it was the work of something entirely supernatural.

And so you threw your arms around his neck, sliding off the bed to meet him on the floor, landing with a knock to the knees that would usually have give you cause to recoil. Yet your priorities were of a wholly different nature.

An initial moment of surprise clung to Minho before you felt a smirk against your lips, his and yours melding together in a symphony that was nothing if not painfully overdue. His lingering taste coated your tongue, a mix of cinnamon and the ever so subtle tang of iron, no doubt the product of a previous hunt. Gentle whimpers emitted from your throat, yet Minho drunk in every one of them. You were frantic, desperate to feel him in every conceivable way, too eager to sate the fire he’d unwittingly lit.

Your momentum propelled him to the floor, and you willingly followed, straddling his lap as the soft grey carpet beneath you cushioned the impact. Hips adopted a mind of their own as you began to grind down on him, the frustrating presence of clothes between you rendering you mad with need.

“Kitten-”

You heard the words, yet couldn’t recognise them as an appeal, an attempt to get you to slow down. They were simply words.

Tears began to prick at your eyes as you tugged at his fiery roots, your lips clamping to the flawless skin of his neck, your free hand slipping into the open chest of his shirt. You couldn’t feel the cold he emitted, your own body heat simmering on the edge of a fever. Taut frustration and salacious lust was the only thing that claimed you now, dictated your every movement.

“Y/N… I-”

His second appeal was cut off with a low growl as you nipped at his neck, catching the flesh between your teeth just enough to get him to keen. Lean hands slid around the curve of your hips, his own needs acting up as he ground you down on him, his prominent bulge grazing your clothed sex too gently.

Titillated and too hot to bear, you scrambled for the hem of your shirt, whipping it over your head and tossing it aside. Desperate pants for breath caused your chest to heave, the tunnel vision rendering you useless as you proceeded to fumble with the buckle of his belt.

Yet Minho, it appeared, remained all too intuitive.

“Hey,” he called, sitting up as best he could, taking his hands in yours despite your efforts to swat them away, “look at me, real quick-”

“Minho, don’t-”

Your whines fell on deaf ears, your attempts to kiss him once again deftly avoided as he looked you straight in the eyes. And his expression dropped.

“Fuck.”

“Yes, please-”

“No, kitten, stop. That’s enough.” He snapped, utilising barely any effort at all to remove you from his lap. You were tossed aside, discarded to the carpet beside him as Minho returned his clothes to a presentable state.

You could no longer stop the tears from falling as you watched him in utter despair, a bubbling scream lingering in the back of your throat. You’d throw a tantrum if that’s what it would take for him to fuck you, because as of this moment, your health and sanity depended on it.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Just shut up for a second.”

Too highly strung and tense to bare being in the same room with him without his hands on you, you clambered to your feet, propping yourself up on the posts of the bed for support you hadn’t known you’d needed. Minho had busied himself with searching the floor, though you couldn’t be sure why. You didn’t care.

You just wanted him.

Your vision blurred and faded red, your sex pulsating with desire, you took the plunge. For you’d do anything.

Charging him with as much force as you could muster and no grace, you threw yourself at his back, sending him reeling to the bed with your impact.

“Y/N, for fucks’ sake-”

Settling on his behind, you got to work stripping the clothes from him once more, tugging with too much force at the collar of his shirt. A clean tear ripped through the material, falling free and exposing his shoulder blade, the back of his neck, to your advances.

Yet you didn’t have a chance to do much more than that.

Minho groaned in frustration, the following actions too quick for you to register them in any real way. Before you knew it, you were pressed back to the bed, your positions swapped as Minho pinned your wrists above your head.

“Take me.” You hissed, bucking your hips up into him in an effort to create some friction. To feel anything.

He closed his eyes tight, clearly struggling with some battle of morals that you honestly wished he’d just abandon, because quite frankly, you felt like you’d die if you didn’t feel him.

“I’m yours… Yours to use. Minho, please… Fuck me, drink from me-”

“Y/N!” He scolded, eyes flashing with something you couldn’t identify. “Fuck, just stop talking! You don’t know how hard you’re making this…”

“Oh, but I do,” you whispered, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, grinding your hips up to him once more, “I can feel exactly how hard it is…”

He hissed through his teeth, jaw as tense as stone.

“Do it… Please, Master, I’ll do anything. Just please-”

And that was the final straw. The breaking point for Minho and his capacity to handle your advances.

You cried out in sinful lamentation as he deftly removed himself with a single push of the mattress, springing away from you. The sudden lack of contact was devastating, as if his mere presence alone was your singular source of pain relief.

He paced the room as he swept his hands through hair, a firm rub at his temples signifying his struggle. Though he seemed to settle on a solution, moving to the door before you could pounce on him once again.

And he called. He shouted as loud as he could, his brothers name echoing through the wide hallways of the estate outside.

It was almost a rude awakening, yet your rose tinted vision was strictly bereft of any other colour. Your body was burnt and weak, your thoughts clouded with the wild possibilities of the things this man could do to you, of what you could do to him. It was a driving force, and you were pulled to him like a magnet to metal as you slunk off the edge of the bed towards him.

You didn’t even notice Chan’s arrival.

“What?!” The elder asked, panic rife in his tone as he took in the sight of you in your topless state, and Minho’s ripped clothes.

“It’s happening again. She’s gone.”

Chan expression dropped, yet he was fast to act with the way you were readying yourself for another assault. He swept across the room, taking you quickly and holding you at arms length much to your dissatisfaction.

“Y/N, hey, look at me.”

“Let me go-”

“Kitten,” Minho purred, standing no closer than a foot in distance, “listen to him. For me?”

For him? You could do it for him.

And so you did. You stood up straight, your squirming ceased as you stared Chan straight in his crimson eyes, though you couldn’t help the way you pressed your thighs together, your gaze flicking to the object of your every desire just over his shoulder.

A sigh of despair escaped Chan, his grip on you firmer now that you appeared to be losing concentration.

“How did this happen?” He asked, his tone accusing.

Minho shrugged, resigning himself to the truth of the matter.

“She took the goddamn necklace off.”

“Why did she take it off?” He questioned once more, shooting a glare over his shoulder.

“It had nothing to do with me, if that’s what you’re implying. She was trying to prove a point, I guess.”

“And you didn’t try to stop her?!”

“Listen,” Minho huffed, approaching his brother while still being careful not to get too close to you, “she whipped the fucking thing off, and burnt me with it. Next thing I know, she’s a cat in heat. What was I supposed to do?”

Chan inhaled deeply, his expression morphing from one of initial anger to newfound concern as you fidgeted under his hold, your entire focus being on the man behind him.

“Where’s the necklace now?” He asked.

“No clue. I couldn’t find it, not that I got much of a chance to look with this one.”

You might as well have been a passerby in this conversation, not a word they were saying registering with you in any sense. All you wanted was Minho.

“Are… are you done yet? Can you go? Minho and I have unfinished-”

“You and Minho have no business together.”

“But we do. We do! Minho, tell him!” You retorted, helpless to fight back as Chan’s strong arm around your shoulders began to guide you out of the room, but not before he swiped your shirt from the floor.

“Chan, we should look for the necklace.” Minho pointed out, rubbing the back of his neck as he side stepped out of the way.

“We will. Just a second.”

You practically broke your neck with the way you were fighting to keep sight of Minho, even as Chan took you out into the hall.

“This is ridiculous, you can’t do this to me. Chan, I need-”

“You’re not in your right mind, Y/N. Space is what you need. Space from him.”

You could honestly say that in all your years of adult life, you’d never thrown a temper tantrum. Bad days and moments of anger, perhaps, but never a full blown, toys out of the pram, fit of anger.

You supposed there was a first time for everything.

“Take me back to him, right fucking now! Chan I’ll scream, I swear to god, I need him! I need him to fuck me, my Master wants me too, Chan! Chan, are you listening?!”

You couldn’t be sure if he was, and it certainly seemed to make no difference either way as you were carted into a room at the opposite end of the wing. Chan took you inside, settling you on the bed before he sunk to his knees in front of you, trying to draw your focus.

“I’m going to be as clear as I know how to be,” he stated, placing a careful hand on your knee. “You’re under the effect an allure, Y/N. Minho’s allure. And that’s because you took the necklace off.”

You shook your head in blatant defiance, not wanting to hear a single word of it. Though you couldn’t deny the way your vision had marginally cleared at the edges with your separation from the redhead.

“These… things you’re feeling? They’re not real. Nothing you’re feeling is real. But it’ll keep happening as long as you’re around him without that necklace on. Do you understand me?”

“No.”

It was a childish retort, but the only one you could muster. His words made sense, offering an explanation to the sequence of events that led up to your wildly uncharacteristic display of need. But you couldn’t bear it all the same.

Chan sighed quietly, patting your knee affectionately before he stood.

“Fine. Just so long as you’ve heard me. We’ll look for your necklace. You’re to stay here in the meantime. I’ll send someone to watch over you.”

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter, I just need Min-”

“Y/N,” Chan growled, his tone suddenly fierce, “if you’re about to tell me you need my brother… If I have to hear that one more time…?”

His eyes had darkened a shade, his jaw tensing with a sense of danger that you hadn’t picked up on before. He didn’t finish his sentence, so if it was a threat, you were none the wiser as to the outcome, yet you almost didn’t need the clarification.

And so Chan left the room without another word more, tossing your discarded shirt to your lap. He swung the door closed behind him, followed by the soft click of the lock.

You were left to your own devices, left to deal with the mess of emotions and desires your body was experiencing. A tight knot of keening frustration and helpless sexual tension ran rampant throughout every nerve of your body, coming to a peak in your core.

And there was surely only one way you could address it.

* * *

##### “We’re never gonna find this fucking thing.”

It was Minho’s fourth observation as to how finding a thin necklace, with an equally thin chain amongst a grey carpet, was like finding a needle in a haystack, yet he also knew that he couldn’t give up the ghost quite yet. They were only thirty minutes in.

“Stop complaining. Just search.” Chan sighed, crawling around on all fours as he scoured the floor.

Minho stood up from his position by the bed, stretching out his back and relishing in the way it clicked and popped with the effort.

“This is all your fault, you know.”

“My fault?!” Minho gasped in mock offence, though he knew he’d had a part to play. “What makes you say that?”

“You two,” Chan groaned as he pawed under the dresser, “you’re like chalk and cheese. I don’t know why you push her.”

Minho cocked his head, unsure if that was the right word to describe his tendencies towards her.

“I don’t push her.” He retorted, wandering the room with eyes glued to the floor until he stopped with a second thought. “Do I?”

Chan glanced up at him, pierced eyebrow raised in questioning.

“Fine. I guess I do.” Minho relented, rubbing the back of his neck. “But she pushes back. She’s a firecracker. I… I like that.”

A quiet hum in response indicated that Chan perhaps wasn’t as receptive to the direction this conversation was taking as he should have been, and Minho didn’t miss that.

“Don’t you think she’s feisty? Doesn’t that intrigue you? She’s not your average human doormat.” He asked, trying to coax more out of him.

“Sure. She’s tenacious.”

The response was non-committal at best, and it was nowhere near enough for Minho.

“Can I ask you something?”

Chan nodded, still busying himself with searching for the necklace, as Minho should have been, he noted.

“The other night, when you did what you do best and cock-blocked me… Was it really just out of concern for her?”

A visible tension set into Chan’s shoulders at the question, his attention diverted to his nosy brother.

“Of course it was,” he replied, his brow creasing, “what the hell else would it have been for? You know hurting her won’t get us anywhere.”

“Right, whatever. But you honestly thought I was going to do that? Hurt her?”

Chan shrugged, and Minho wondered if he’d brush it off again.

“I just acted on what I heard. And it wouldn’t be out of the realms of possibility, would it? She’s young. Beautiful. Your type down to the letter. You forget that I know you, Minho.”

Minho was almost offended at the conclusion Chan had arrived at, but honestly, he knew he couldn’t find too much fault with it. And if he was being truthful with himself, in the brutal light of day, he hadn’t been confident in his ability to control his urges that night. If things between him and the girl had gone further than they had, he wasn’t sure if he’d have been present in that moment. A forceful movement or a second of lapse in his attention could easily have spelled her doom.

Though at the time, he’d told himself he could handle it. Perhaps Chan’s intervention had been a blessing, after all.

Not that he’d ever tell him that.

“I had things under control. Not that you’d know, brother, but what you heard were the sounds of satisfaction. She just wanted me, see?”

“Yeah. You’ve mentioned.” Chan replied, his tone deadpan.

“I wanted her.” Minho sighed listlessly.

“I know.”

“Still do…”

A lingering tension set into the air, a tangible feeling of something resembling an awkward silence, yet it was inexplicable. This shouldn’t have been awkward, there was no obvious reason for it.

Unless there was.

“You can tell me, you know. If that wasn’t the only reason you stopped us.” Minho prodded.

“There’s no other fucking reason. Stop asking.” Chan spat, frustration setting in.

“So… the next time it happens,” he drawled, checking absently under the sofa, “and there will be a next time. You won’t care?”

It seemed that was enough to get a rise from Chan.

He stood up quickly, whipping his head around to his brother. A clear expression of anger on his face, the veins in his neck protruding with the unwarranted rush of blood.

“No. I won’t care. And in case you’re forgetting, there won’t be a next time for you if we don’t find that fucking necklace.”

Minho cocked his head, seeming to miss the implication as he met Chan’s stare.

“What, it never occurred to you? If you fuck her while she’s under the influence, you know it’s not really her, right? She wouldn’t be doing it because she wanted to. She might as well be drugged.” He smirked, hands shoved to his pockets in defiance.

“Of course it occurred to me. I told her to keep the damn thing on, Chan, you know that.”

“Sure you did.” Chan scoffed.

Minho shot him a look of disbelief, taking a step closer to him.

“You don’t believe me? She told you herself, showed you the necklace! And I’d have had my way if you hadn’t barged in and played the white fucking knight.”

“I saved her.” Chan snarled, refusing to back down. “God knows she needed it.”

“Saved her?! From me?”

“Yes, from you. You’re a blatant danger, even if she doesn’t see it. She’s blinded by… by whatever the fuck you’ve done to her. Whatever bullshit you’ve plied her with.”

Both were aware that this conversation had derailed wildly, descending into a standoff between brothers that was now more a contest than a discussion of any sort. But contests had a way of bringing truths to the surface.

“You’re a goddamn hypocrite, you think you’re so innocent? We’ve all done things we’re not proud of, Chan. You think she’d be better off with you, is that it?”

“I’ve never claimed to be innocent. But I’ve also never pretended to be something I’m not. You just play a part, the whole thing’s a show of deceit for you.”

“A show?!” Minho half-laughed. “Is it really so hard for you to believe that perhaps she just wants me for who I am?”

“No, it isn’t hard to believe,” Chan glared, eyes flashing with resolve, “it’s fucking impossible.”

Minho couldn’t process what he was hearing. There were admittedly elements of truth to his brothers’ brutal statements, but he could shrug those off easily enough.

More concerning than that, he found, was the sudden realisation that Chan appeared to care. A lot. Of all the women and people he’d utilised as tools over their long years of unlife, Chan had never so much as batted an eyelid unless it concerned the whole clan, and it rarely did.

So why now? Why her? Could it be?

“You… Do you… care for her?”

Chan froze, his eyes widening with the accusation. Yet just as quickly, his confident demeanour returned, the challenge reaffirmed within him.

“Spare me, Minho. What am I, a giddy teenager?”

“No, no. You don’t get to brush this off,” Minho stated, side stepping his brother before he had a chance to walk away, “that’s what it is. All this shit, acting the fearless leader… it’s jealousy. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“No, you’re-”

Chan stopped himself, whatever witty retort he was about to come back with hanging from the tip of his tongue. He relaxed, appearing to stand taller than before, his features motionless as he met his brother’s piercing gaze.

“You know what? What if it is that?” He muttered softly, disconcertingly so for the situation.

Minho wasn’t often lost for words. Yet this had seemed to achieve it.

“What if… I want her for myself? As my own, to claim and do with as I please? What if she wants me just as badly?”

An ornery smirk graced Minho’s lips, a fire stoking anew in his ice cold chest at the knowledge that the undoubted satisfaction of taking her would now taste all the sweeter with the addition of this added challenge.

But that was just as Minho liked it. He’d never found appeasement in the easy victories.

“I’d say that creates a problem, brother.” He mused.

“Mhm.” Chan hummed, hands firm in his pockets, shoulders broad and tense. “I’d say it does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	10. Chapter 10

##### You knew you weren’t yourself.

You could recognise that, as the allure had begun to wear off, the effects wrought on you through Minho’s mere presence had begun to lessen.

Yet you were a long way off total recovery, and you’d resigned yourself to taking matters into your own hands the moment Chan had left you alone.

The taut knot of frustration and sexual tension, the palpable desire and dazing need to feel him against you. It had stoked a fire so wild within you that the only possible solution was to bring yourself some semblance of relief, inasmuch as you could in the confines of the room you were in.

And so you considered that consequences were of little note as you proceeded to dip your hand to your jeans. You popped open the button and slid down the zipper as you scrambled back to the unmade bed, head rested to the fluffed pillow beneath you.

You’d tugged them down to the crook of your hips, just enough to allow yourself access. Under normal circumstances, you’d have taken your time with this kind of thing. Indulged yourself, delaying the gratification until you simply couldn’t bear putting off the explosion of sheer pleasure you craved.

Yet you weren’t permitted any such indulgence this time. You simply needed to feel something, _anything_ that could sate the wanton desires that claimed you.

An inaudible sigh escaped you as you led your fingers to where you needed them most, the shirt you’d discarded during your foray with Minho still tossed to the floor. You were running too hot, feverish in your temperature, and that only worsened as you began to touch yourself.

Gentle at first, tentative swipes over the hood of your swollen clit, until you could no longer deny the urges. Your middle finger isolated and firm, you slipped it into your entrance, groaning sinfully with the meagre relief it offered. Because as much as you needed it, it simply wasn’t enough.

Nothing about it was satisfactory, nothing about it akin to the sensation of _true_ relief, which you knew could only be in the form of the man you lusted after.

Visions of his face returned to you, as if on command, recollections of the dangerously close encounter you’d had with him not too long ago. You focused desperately, summoning back the memory of how his cock had felt against you that night. How the girth had teased at the promise of utter satisfaction, how the sheer length slicking through your needy sex had goaded you for wanting it so badly.

“F- Fuck…”

Needing more than what you had, you dropped your free hand to your groin, two fingers massaging your clit as you continued to work yourself with your other. Adding your index finger, the fullness inevitably improved, yet it was still frustratingly lacking.

You freely emitted the whimpers and moans, the knot in your core building to a familiar peak as you worked up a frantic pace, thighs trembling and brow creased with the focus of working with what you had.

Yet the final spring, the pushing edge you needed to get there simply didn’t arrive. It couldn’t.

No matter what you did, how carefully you touched yourself or how frantically you worked, there was no alleviation to be found. As if your body itself was outright refusing to let go of the carnal lust Minho’s allure, and indeed, he himself, had instilled in you.

You cried out in pure grievance, tears stinging at your eyes, hands dropping to your sides in defeat. The salacious dripping of your sex only exacerbated the latent desire you held, the cool air of the room teasing around it gently.

You fought to catch your breath, though it was now in the form of staggered rasps and desperate sighs. There could surely be no reprieve from this curse you were under.

“That was quite the show, darling.”

The sudden intrusion sent you to fright, and you immediately sat upright, clamping your thighs together and yanking your jeans up instinctively.

The tallest vampire, the one you recognised to be Hyunjin, stood at the other end of the room. Arms crossed over his chest, he adopted a lazy recline against the wall. His soft blonde locks fell loosely, his perfectly plump lips graced with a smirk that you hadn’t seen from him before. You hadn’t even heard him come in.

“I… I didn’t-”

“Don’t even try it,” he sighed, dragging himself up as he approached you, “I know exactly what’s happened here.”

You really hoped he had, because that actually would make explaining this situation far easier than it appeared to be.

You watched as he sauntered to the end of the bed, legs crossed elegantly as he sat down like you weren’t just furiously masturbating in front of him.

“Chan asked me to babysit. Can’t believe he had the cheek to put you in my room, though.”

“This… This is your room?!” You coughed, the guilt now increased tenfold.

He hummed in response, casting you a glance from over his shoulder.

“Oh, but don’t mind me.” He mused, gesturing at you. “Please continue.”

The flush to your cheeks was almost as bad as the fire in your core, and you couldn’t bear to maintain eye contact with him. The only thing you wanted was the ground to swallow you up.

“You’re not going to?” He asked, turning to face you properly.

“I- I’m fine.”

He cocked his head, eyes narrowing with doubt.

“But you didn’t finish. Why stop?”

You could hardly believe he was actually fishing for a reason as to your lack of cooperation. There were few things you weren’t prepared to do, but exhibitionism for a vampire was firmly at the bottom of your list.

“Hyunjin, d- don’t you think you saw enough?”

“Does it matter what I saw?” He quipped, an expression of innocence laced to his stunning features, and you could only sigh in exasperation. You thought nothing could have surprised you anymore.

And then it struck you.

“Wait… You knew? That I didn’t…?”

He nodded in that same way, seemingly surprised that you’d even doubted it.

“Of course. It’s obvious.”

“It is?”

“Sure,” he smiled, eyes raking over your form, “when you know what to look for, anyway.”

You could only imagine what it was exactly that he was looking for, but you once again marvelled at the intuitiveness. Many times you’d been with human men who couldn’t tell your faked orgasms from the real thing, including those that couldn’t have cared less whether you finished or not. Yet Hyunjin had pointed it out like it was a basic common courtesy.

“I can tell a lot of things by looking at a person.”

“You can?” You replied, a new sense of intrigue setting in with his presence. This was the first opportunity you’d had to really speak to him, aside from your cold exchange in the newly refurbished kitchen that had pointed towards his disdain for you.

“Mhm. You wanna see?”

You did want to see. You could admit to that much.

“As much as I don’t mind the view, how about you get dressed first?” He smiled, tossing your shirt to you from the floor.

You nodded in thanks, tugging it on over your head only to be greeted by Hyunjin now directly in front of you, legs crossed underneath him. It took you by surprise, much to his satisfaction.

“Ready?”

“Uh, I am… But, before that,” you stammered, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, “is this an allure thing? _Your_ allure?”

Hyunjin smiled once more, his eyes crinkling at the edges in an appearance of endearment.

“It is. It’s not like the others though. It won’t affect you in any way. It’s more of an… insight?” He replied, almost seeming unsure himself.

Though you were still glad you’d asked the question. You’d learnt from experience that you weren’t equipped for too much exposure to allures, and certainly not consecutively.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

Hyunjin nodded, shuffling forward until your knees and his grazed at the caps. It wasn’t uncomfortable, despite how sure you’d been that he disliked you. He was almost like a different person.

“I just need you to look at me. That’s all. Relax.”

You remained compliant, meeting his piercing gaze as he focused on you.

While Hyunjin had said there would be no tangible effect on you, you found yourself hooked to his vision. Quite unexpectedly, while he was looking into your eyes, you could sense the lack of presence in them. As if he were simply daydreaming, rather looking through you than at you directly, your physical form merely an obstacle between him and the things he sought.

His eyebrows raised in quiet surprise, a subsequent chuckle leaving him.

“W- What is it?” You muttered, reluctant to break the silence that had settled in.

“Nothing…” He whispered, his voice barely audible. “Just didn’t have you pegged as the kinky type.”

“K- Kinky?!”

You choked on the accusatory word, wondering what exactly he was seeing as his gaze remained fixed to yours, unblinking.

“Well… You’re not a virgin. But I didn’t need the sight to tell me that.” He smirked.

“Hyunjin, what are you-”

“You lost your virginity to someone you didn’t care for. You… You weren’t ready. You regret it.”

All words escaped you as he proceeded to reel off the most intimate of your secrets, as though he’d opened the box labelled ‘private and confidential’ in the back of your mind without needing so much as a key.

“You have a high sex drive. Didn’t start out that way, but you discovered yourself as you got older. Found out what you liked…”

You shook your head in quiet disbelief, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Yet Hyunjin bit his lip, cocking his head in intrigue.

“And there isn’t much you don’t like, is there Y/N?”

“I… I guess not.” You sighed, deducing that it would be utterly pointless to lie here.

“You like restriction. Gentle hands around your throat, your wrists. The sensation of breath being robbed from your chest, how it renders you weaker than you believe you are,” he continued, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip, “you enjoy a person bigger than yourself, in both size and character. Being made to feel physically inferior whilst holding a mental superiority… You thrive off it. Even better when that mentality is reduced to submission.”

You cleared your throat, instinctively rubbing your wrist in an effort to distract yourself as you tried not to drop your eyes from him, though it was getting harder to do that.

“You crave kind words, through clear instruction. A need to be mentored through sex, so as to avoid mistakes that might sour the mood. You’re a pleaser, through and through. Cute.”

The flush to your cheeks burnt all the stronger, and you wondered if his added commentary was necessary.

“Danger. Fear. You find seduction in it. The thrill of the unknown appeals to you in ways you don’t yet understand yourself…” he muttered, pursing his lips, “and I’d be inclined to agree with you on that one.”

Hearing someone outwardly put your own fetishes and desires into words was profoundly strange, and not something you were prepared for. But the eloquence and clarity to his monologue was almost therapeutic in delivery, and it offered a strange semblance of comfort. As though you were receiving validation for the things you’d always considered to be unusual, simply through the acknowledgement that they were things that existed at all.

Because for Hyunjin, this was so far within the realms of normal that you wouldn’t have been able to comprehend the things that _he_ found strange.

“You’ve had bad sex. Distressing amounts of it, actually,” he quipped, an expression of near sympathy crossing his perfect face, “but the best sex you’ve ever had…”

He paused, narrowing his eyes and careening forwards, as if trying to look deeper.

“You don’t know. You don’t consider a single one of your rendezvous to be better than another. That… kinda sucks, actually.”

And it was at that point, you dropped your gaze.

It was a sad truth you’d come to terms with long ago, and you hadn’t thought it to be all that important until now. Until you saw the way Hyunjin was looking at you, something akin to pity written across his face.

“Enough?” Hyunjin asked, the simple question being all you needed.

“Enough,” you repeated, offering him a small smile, “thank you. I think.”

“Don’t thank me,” he laughed, waving it off, “I just can’t help prying into peoples’ sex lives.”

You stifled a laugh, grateful that he didn’t appear to want to push any of the things he’d discovered.

“So, what is it anyway? Your allure. Some kind of fortune telling?”

Hyunjin shrugged nonchalantly, reclining to his side on the bed.

“I’m not sure myself. Seungmin believes it to be a form of sexual sight, my blood strain being what it is and all.”

“You’re erosblood?”

He hummed in response, stretching out his hand before him as he inspected it absently.

“Honestly, all we really know about our allures is what they do, and how to control them. We don’t really understand them. Minho, least of all.”

The mere mention of his name sent a yearning to your chest, a palpable ache setting in all over again. You closed your eyes in an effort to retain control, wondering whether or not that was an aftereffect of the allure, or something else entirely.

“He can’t help it, you know. The pull he holds. It’s indomitable.”

“I figured,” you replied quietly, “but it knocked me for six.”

“Yeah, it’ll do that. You got off easy though, so consider yourself lucky. I’ve seen others drive themselves mad with it.”

“You have?”

He nodded in acknowledgement, propping his head on his hand as he glanced up at you.

“Every human he comes into contact with, any relationship he tries to form… they always end the same way. Whether it’s a friend, a potential lover, a passerby in the street, sooner or later, they’ll submit to the calling of his allure. It hits some faster than others, but ultimately, there are no exceptions. They’re driven mad for him, and he has no choice but to disappear or capitalise on it.”

“Capitalise… on it?”

Hyunjin blinked, waving away the comment with a motion of his hand. You could only speculate as to what he meant by that, but given Chan’s numerous words of warning, you felt your speculation probably wasn’t too far off.

“What about… other vampires? Allures don’t work on your own kind, right? So can’t he just-”

“I’ll stop you there,” Hyunjin interrupted, shaking his head. “We might be safe from each others’ allures but that’s about it. We’re territorial creatures by nature. Having friends or lovers outside of your own clan is almost always a terrible idea. Just doesn’t work, and he knows that. We all do.”

You nodded quietly, unsurprised with the small titbit of information. If they didn’t have inherent tendencies to live in packs, as one cohesive unit, there wouldn’t be a need for clans at all. It made sense, you supposed.

“You’re probably the first, actually. The first human he can be himself around. Necklace permitting, of course.” He mused.

“He never told me that. I wish I’d known.”

Your heart ached for Minho all over again. The sorrowful notion that he was either forced to distance himself from those that he might drive mad, or embrace it as part of his nature. Neither sat well with you, and for all your worth, you wanted to give him a third option. Had been doing just that, until your pride had bested you and you’d lost the one thing that allowed him to be near you without risk.

“This is Minho we’re talking about, Y/N. Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but he’s not one for sharing. Nor is Chan.”

“Right…”

“Don’t blame yourself for what you felt, or what you did. But… don’t blame him either. Unlike the rest of us, he has about as much control over it as he does the weather.”

“What I did? You know about that?” You stammered.

“Oh, darling. The whole house knows about it. We heard every word.”

Vampires and their supernatural hearing. You wanted to damn yourself for forgetting.

“Same goes for your little show earlier, too. The moans of a woman haven’t been heard in this place for a long, long time. You probably gave poor Lix a heart attack.”

“Oh god…” You whined, holding your head to your hands.

The helpless laugh that Hyunjin broke out into admittedly made you feel better, the sound acting as music to your ears.

You also noted the distinct change to your mood. From the devolved mess you were only moments ago, to the relatively calm yet embarrassed person you were now, you were aware that you had Hyunjin to thank for that. Things could very easily have gone wrong, with you being in the vulnerable state you were.

“Hyunjin, I… I think we got off on the wrong foot, maybe.”

Another genuine smile graced his lips, in addition to a hum of approval.

“Me too. Guess you’re not as bad as all the other humans I’ve met.” He winked.

“You’re not the worst vampire I’ve ever run into either.”

He pushed himself up on his arms, taking your hand in his carefully. Just as cold to the touch as Minho and Chan, yet nowhere near the amount of tension in his hold. It was a simple comfort, and for an erosblood, you considered that to be a marvel.

“You’ll forgive me my prejudice?” He asked, a hopeful look to his crimson eyes.

“Of course. It’s forgotten. I could never blame you for that.”

And you were being truthful, having heard Chan’s tale of what they’d been through. You should have been grateful that prejudice was all he harboured towards you.

He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a tentative peck to the back of your palm.

“For what it’s worth,” he muttered, “I’m glad you’re here. I haven’t seen Chan or Minho like this since before everything happened. It gives me hope.”

“Hope?”

“I just… I feel like they’re discovering something they’ve lost in you. If that makes any sense. Probably doesn’t, right?”

You shook your head, admittedly confused with his statement. You were at a loss at to how your presence here in any form could help either of them, when at the moment all it seemed to be doing was creating conflict and issues.

Hyunjin released your hand, giving you a knowing look before he patted it affectionately.

“Everything will work out,” he sighed, “but you better hope they find that necklace.”

“Yeah…” You muttered, wringing your fingers together. “I do.”

* * *

##### The confrontation with Minho had left Chan seething under the surface of his usually cool and collected demeanour.

It had, essentially, ended with the two of them confirming their mutual fondness of the girl, though so much had been left unsaid that Chan almost wished he’d bit the bullet and asked the things he _really_ wanted to know.

What were Minho’s intentions? What was his angle? What did he hope to gain by playing with her feelings?

There had to be something. Some ulterior motive that Minho kept close to his chest. Chan remained stalwart in his reasoning, that being that his brother was simply partaking in his usual games, not giving a care nor afterthought to the victim of said manipulation, because that was just who Minho was.

He also knew that his stubborn speculation on Minho’s approach could be attributed to the fact that the alternative was simply too dire to even consider.

Because if he were to factor in actual _feelings,_ consider that perhaps, on some level, Minho had begun to genuinely like this girl beyond the things he could get from her or that she could give him, it would vastly complicate things.

In all his years of knowing Minho, the numerous decades they’d spent together as a clan and as brothers, he had yet to see him show any sort of love outside the familial kind he’d received himself. That wasn’t unusual in of itself, and Chan had never thought much of it before now.

Before her.

He knew Minho hadn’t been wrong in much of what he’d said, and that he’d been trying to get a rise out of him throughout that entire prose of questioning. Chan thought he’d bested it, until his brother had pointed out the obvious.

The apparent unwarranted jealousy.

And Chan was painfully so, if he were to be truthful about it. Although Minho hadn’t seemed to quite detect the severity of it, and he sincerely hoped it stayed that way.

He’d told the truth, by and large, as to his reasons for interrupting the pair that night they were together. Initially, he had been concerned for her welfare. Knowing Minho and his tendencies better than most, hearing the things he’d heard that alluded to some form of bodily harm taking place, he’d almost believed he’d be too late to the scene, half expecting to find a lifeless body in place of the flushed and lively one he found.

But it had been in that moment of intrusion, that he’d realised the depth of his attachment.

Seeing his brother above her, her naked form on display for him to enjoy. It had sparked something in Chan that he hadn’t predicted, and that he certainly couldn’t hope to explain. More than envy or even wishing he was in his brothers’ place, he was struck with an irreverent need to defend something he felt to be _his_. Which was ludicrous, he was sure.

Because she was so much more than just the average innocent girl that had wandered into their estate, and perhaps her association with WAHVA had been the thing that initially intrigued him. He supposed that she must have been someone noteworthy for them to bother sending her in the first place.

And sure enough, as time had passed, the days and nights melding together in the same manner they’d always done, he’d gradually discovered those noteworthy factors himself.

She was strong. Fearless to an almost idiotic fault, and could certainly handle herself when she needed to, Chan had no doubt about that. Indeed, her display of defiance with Minho, while wildly foolish for all obvious reasons, indicated that very strength. In addition, the weapons Changbin had confiscated from her on her entrance alluded to a sense of resourcefulness, a touch of ingenuity that he knew couldn’t be accredited to WAHVA. And better than that, every one of them seemed unstained. Humane, even, if used appropriately.

A small glass vial of blood had been among them, the fragility of the glass suggesting that it was an item intended to be broken. A decoy tool in the strictest sense of the word. Using such a thing was brave, definitely. But it also reeked of the kind of optimism she tended to carry, in addition to the permeating scent of her blood, and Chan wondered if she knew just how effective that would make them. He didn’t suppose she did. How could she?

For these tools would undoubtedly live up to their use, if she herself was the source of the distraction. Her blood, her very life essence had been one of the first things he’d picked up on during their initial encounters.

Chan couldn’t quite describe the scent of her blood. To put it into words would be doing it a disservice, yet the closest thing he could relate it to in any real terms was how he imagined a drug to appeal to its’ user. His personal form of heroin, it would sing to him from across the room, beckoning with the promise of a taste so saccharine sweet and subduing that it took effort on an unprecedented scale to bring himself back into line.

For if he succumbed, he would never go back. And nor would she.

So he would remind himself, for the umpteenth time that day, that she was nothing more than a hostage. He would bury the nagging feelings that haunted him, reaffirming that she was simply a human girl like any other.

That in a few weeks, if not sooner, she’d be gone from here. Perhaps. That depended on him.

Chan supposed that the length of her captivity was directly linked to how likely he felt she was to run straight to WAHVA the moment she was released, reporting on her mission failure with all the information she’d collected on them to boot. Specifics on their blood strains, and more importantly, their allures. The dynamics of their clan, how they worked. For information was power, and for the most part, they’d managed to keep those things about them hidden from prying, corporate eyes, allowing only inklings and suspicions for rumination. Suspicions as to their class of blood strain, inklings of knowledge as to their allure tendencies, all things WAHVA would undoubtedly want to know. Chan was under no illusions that it was those very uncertainties that had kept them out of WAHVA’s more forceful firing line, for it simply wasn’t enough for them to act on.

Yet with the failure of their first Envoy, the consistent pestering to join the volunteer programmes and the unexpected arrival of the girl, all things pointed to a truth that Chan felt he was realising only too late.

The truth of a bigger picture, a grander scheme on WAHVA’s part, and this was only reinforced by the pit he’d had in his stomach since the day he’d committed her to captivity. A sense of foreboding, of rats being caught in a trap, with her at the centre of it all.

Because no matter how hard he speculated, he simply couldn’t get on board with the instructions she’d been given, her reasoning for being here at all. Sending an experienced vampire wrangler, a freelance Envoy, straight into a den of them, for the sole purpose of re-establishing contact?

It made no sense. Chan was surprised it even made sense to her, yet the idea of WAHVA deceiving even their own people wasn’t one that was out of the realms of possibility. And she was admittedly biased, refusing to see a measure of the truth that Chan speculated at with the vampire disappearances and inclinations to corruption.

He would try to organise his thoughts. Follow a line of logic that might, if he were lucky, reveal a truth of some description to him.

WAHVA sends a girl with loose Company ties, to a family of hostile, suspicious vampires, under the ruse of mending ties with her superiors. The ruse has to be believable on all sides, therefore they spin her a story, create a job for her and a sense of purpose that she can quote when she needs to. Hostile, suspicious vampires jump on the defensive, and they either a) try to kill her, or b) take her prisoner.

Chan could ruminate as to the outcomes of both scenarios, the best and worst for both his family and the girl.

If hostile, suspicious vampires kill her, WAHVA sustains a loss in the form of a body and are forced to dip into their pool of endless resources, trying the same thing again. A veritable rinse and repeat.

If hostile, suspicious vampires take her prisoner, WAHVA wait. They see how things play out, keeping two eyes on the quiet hostage situation until one side gives. And that would, in this case and if the stated purpose of her job was to be believed, involve the eventual release of the girl. She returns to the corporate overlords, reporting success or failure, and then…

Then what?

That was where Chan fell short every time. Where the logic line stopped, inasmuch as he could conjure.

For if she truly wasn’t sent to re-establish contact, her actual mission remained shrouded in mystery. Unbeknownst even to her, perhaps, and on that basis, Chan could only conclude that WAHVA and their whole operation had sent her with nefarious motive.

Nefarious motive that he simply couldn’t discover alone.

Unless he were to factor in his reasons for terminating all contact with WAHVA in the first place.

The hounding they’d been subjected to by the tenacious Envoys to get them to participate in the volunteer programmes… Call it pessimism, but the perseverance, the borderline desperation WAHVA utilised to try and bring them on board sent alarm bells off for Chan. The programmes were never mandatory, they’d been told that countless times, so the clan’s refusal to get involved shouldn’t have resulted in such a hard line push for them to change their minds.

So perhaps that was related to her arrival too, in some way. With the forceful bribery approach seeming to yield no results with them, it could be that the girl was their way of trying to beckon them into compliance. An offering, so to speak.

It would make sense, Chan felt. With her loose ties and abilities to defend herself presenting the reason for her selection, it could stand to reason that her personable nature would be enough to sway the hearts of those that couldn’t be moved by monetary efforts or material promises.

Yet it was a gamble. A massive risk on WAHVA’s part, for as much as they could predict what would occur, they could never have it on solid lock. Why not just send her to make the offer in the first place? Why dress her up in pretences and throw her to the sharks?

Chan supposed it could be considered a testament to WAHVA’s very nature. Their lack of regard for life, human or otherwise. For as much as they preached the good fight and marched in the name of human and vampire unity, Chan knew them to be more than corrupt under the pristine face of it all. He could feel it. Taste in the bitterness of their crowd pleasing words.

Vampire disappearances, collusion and deceit, that was all he saw when their flashy logo shone bright in his eyes, and while he was starkly lacking in any solid evidence to back that up, he’d also been around long enough to know that when something appears too good to be true, it always is.

So for the first time in an impossibly long time, Chan found himself unsure. Unsure of the best course of action to take, of which path to walk.

He couldn’t kill her, that much was certain. He’d never wanted to, not from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, and he imagined his brothers to be of the same mind. Or the faebloods, at the very least, as they seemed particularly attached to her and neither was it in their nature to do active harm. And by all accounts, if anything he’d considered was even remotely right, she was just as innocent a party in all this as they were.

Yet he couldn’t release her. Couldn’t take even the slightest chance that she would go back to WAHVA, no matter how much she assured him she wouldn’t, no matter how much he was inclined to believe her. And admittedly, that part of him existed.

A stronger part of him than he’d like to acknowledge, felt that this girl _could_ be trusted with their secrets and truths. Something in her eyes perhaps, or the way she seemed so inherently good. Chan couldn’t place exactly why he’d done what he had that night in the library, reeling off the sad tale of the clan, giving specifics on their blood strains, their movements, whatever came to mind. He’d essentially handed her the ins and outs of their private lives, information he’d never relayed to anyone, without thinking too much about it.

Though he knew he wasn’t the only one that had done that. And he almost found comfort in that fact. They couldn’t all be wrong, could they? Felix at the very least would have been able to sense the kind of person she was, and he had given no such warning of a need for caution so far.

So what was he to do? Wait it out? Count down the days until WAHVA turns up at the door, demanding the return of their freelance Envoy, which would surely come with the spilling of blood?

It was maddening. Driving Chan to the edge of his sanity with the back and forth, the endless speculation he’d play at night to night. The fear that he’d walked straight into the big picture WAHVA had sketched was crippling, and if he had, he’d only have himself to blame. If any of his brothers got hurt, or worse, it would be his fault.

And to top it all off, to really hammer the final nail into his proverbial coffin, he was cursed with growing affection for the girl. An unprecedented desire to claim her, to protect her, even from that of his own brother who’d displayed equally as strong an interest in her.

No matter what solutions he conjured for this situation when he got lost in thought, every one of them ended with her pain in some form or another. The simple idea made Chan’s gut wrench. He couldn’t bear it. And that would put an abrupt end to any possible problem solving he could hope to achieve.

So he battled with the pros and cons of everything he knew to be true, deducing that it was largely pointless to try and prepare for something he could only predict through a gut feeling and a hunch.

All he could say for sure, as of this very moment, as he slyly stuffed the wild rose pendant he’d retrieved from the floor of her room into his pocket, was that he was falling.

For the human girl he’d taken hostage.

For the human girl that might, in the end, spell their doom.

Whether she knew it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	11. Chapter 11

##### You were warm.

Too warm. As though your body had come down with a searing fever, without the prerequisite of a sickness to induce it.

Vision tinted with the hue of blood, yet you could see nothing beyond the fog of colour. Moreso than any sight, you were accosted with a feeling of raw desire so profound, you could have mistaken it for being in the grasps of Minho’s allure all over again.

“Y/N…”

A rasped whisper of your name sent your fingers curling to the sheets beneath you, ghosted touches tracing across your chest, down the sides of your ribs. It only worsened the rabid heat that claimed you, a whimper emitting from your parted lips as the sensation seemed to centre around your core.

Vague flashes of sharp, feline crimson eyes shimmered from your view, the bright red tresses of the vampire that cursed you tickling at your navel, travelling down your body. Your thighs parted involuntarily, your breath catching with anticipation, the direction of his movement suggesting such wonderfully sinful things to come.

Yet there was no physical touch against you. What you felt was more ethereal than that. A tangible sensation of wanting, a manifestation of the titillation that comes from being touched, warm and impossibly gentle. It sent you into quiet tremors from thighs to toes.

Every muscle in your body taut with latent lust, your back arched from the bed as you chased the delicious sensation you wanted so badly. It seemed so distant.

“Y/N…”

Another otherworldly uttering of your name, yet this voice was different. Lighter than the last, further away, perhaps. You turned your head in its’ direction, still unable to focus through the cloud that surrounded you, yet you still saw.

Incorporeal, faded clusters of white blonde hair teased at your jawline. Plump, parted lips smoothed over your neck, a gentle dragging of sharpness left in their wake, and you knew them to be teeth. Fangs, tipped with red, they left a pattern over your skin, leaving no area untouched as the other vampire at your thighs called for your attention.

You felt the way they desired you, on a level unknown even to you. The competition of battling for your affections. You couldn’t hope to resist, couldn’t hope to fight the way they drugged you with their simple presence, rendering you helpless to anything and everything with the way they loved you.

You knew your soul to be damned for either one of them.

The knot in your core built to an impossible peak, two sets of hands moulding your body into perfect submission, at your neck, your waist, your hips and quivering thighs. Your rasped gasps for breath broke the silence, despite their continued uttering of your name. It was soundless to you, seeping into the background as you were lulled into a haze at their beckoning, yet it was as clear as the chiming of a bell.

You wanted them. Wanted them stronger than you’d ever wanted anything, and in that moment, had you been asked to sell your salvation and all worldly possessions for the meagre possibility of staying with them, you’d have done it. Hand on heart and sworn to the bible, you’d have forsaken everything for this.

For them.

* * *

##### “Y/N…? Are you listening?”

Felix’s voice was a soft pull from the daydream you’d entered, and in answer to his question, you really hadn’t been listening.

“Ugh, I’m sorry Lix,” you sighed, sitting up straight in the sofa seat, “tell me again. I’m listening now, I promise.”

A narrow of his eyes told you that he didn’t entirely believe you, and you couldn’t have blamed him for that. To say you felt lethargic would have been a vast understatement, and you’d only agreed to go along with Felix and his request for assistance with his card collection because you knew any chance of sleep to be a hopeless endeavour.

“Are you okay?” He asked, putting down his cards before he shuffled closer to you. “You’ve been so distant all day.”

You shook your head, sweeping your hands through your hair before you rubbed at your temples, an attempt to ease the mild ache in your head.

“I don’t know… I’m just tired, I think.”

Another dubious look from him almost sent tears to your eyes, his intuitiveness setting in before you even had a chance to explain anything to him.

Because you simply didn’t need to. You didn’t need to tell him that your dreams had been haunted with visions of both Minho and Chan for days, and that they were nothing but restless. Didn’t need to detail how taut with frustration you were, both mentally and physically, and how, as a result, every little thing seemed to either set you seething with anger or keening at the edges.

You didn’t need to let him know how badly you wished your necklace would turn up, and how sick to death you were of looking for it. If you hadn’t known better you’d have sworn some unseen force had spirited it away, to someplace you’d never retrieve it. You’d been forbidden from seeing Minho at all until it was found, by Chan’s strict instructions and with Minho’s apparent agreement. It was just another thing to add to the list of ridiculous grievances.

Perhaps most importantly, and certainly most thankfully, you didn’t need to explain how confused you were to him. Felix knew, either through the simple absence in your eyes or the way your ears pricked up at the mere sound of either of his elder brothers’ names or voices, that you were utterly conflicted, for an endless number of reasons.

“You know what you need?” He asked rhetorically, bouncing from the sofa with enthusiasm. “You need out of this damn prison.”

You rolled your eyes at the suggestion, despite the way your heart swelled with hope. You already knew it to be impossible.

“There’s no way Chan would ever allow that, Lix.”

“Who says he needs to know?”

“What, you and I are just going to sneak out of here and hope he doesn’t notice? No way.” You scoffed, noting that you’d already done this and tried to keep it from him once, to hilariously little success.

“ _Who_ says it’ll just be you and I?” He repeated, a mischievous smirk plastered to his lips.

You raised your eyebrow at him, the tone to his voice indicating that while you were busy complaining and brushing him off, he’d already hatched a plan of sorts.

“Well… Who then?” You asked, admittedly intrigued.

“You’ll find out.” He chimed, clearly committed to whatever it was he had in store.

He approached you quickly, taking your hands in his as he sunk to his knees. His silver tresses fluffed over his eyes, he swept them back quickly, speaking under his breath for fear of his brothers’ advanced hearing.

“Go get ready. Put something on, but make it fierce. I know for a fact you’ve got some numbers in that wardrobe that’ll give a guy a nosebleed-”

“And how do you know that?” You quipped, narrowing your eyes while stifling the small smile of knowing.

“Oh, you think I haven’t rifled through your shit? You realise we’re the same waist right?” He smirked, his eyebrows wiggling with mischief. “Just be ready in an hour. I’ll come get you. Okay?”

You nodded in agreement, the excitement of the impromptu kidnapping kicking in as you began to hope that, with Felix’s help, you _could_ actually pull this off. Getting out of the house was such a simple thing, but it sent you giddy in ways you’d missed.

“You need this. I know you do.”

“What happens if we’re caught?” You hissed, following his gaze as he stood up.

“We won’t be. But if we are, that’s on me. Now move it! Go!” He whispered back urgently, tugging you to your feet before he ushered you in the general direction of the East Wing.

You stifled the giggle of excitement, maintaining your calm demeanour as best you could until you got into the relative safety of your room. You made a beeline for your wardrobe, throwing open the doors and scanning over the items of clothing.

Finding the one thing you hoped you’d brought with you, you internally thanked god that you hadn’t given too much thought to the clothes you’d packed under the supervision of Minho, all that time ago.

Felix was right. This really would instigate a nosebleed.

* * *

##### “Before we do this,” Hyunjin sighed, running his fingers through his silky blonde locks.

“I want it on record that I said this was a terrible fucking idea.”

“Don’t be so boring,” Felix spat back, arm linked tightly in yours as you clacked down the stone pavement together, “you jumped at the goddamn chance. You wanted out of there just as bad as we did.”

“I- I also kinda think it’s a bad idea…” You stammered, not wanting to be the rain on Felix’s parade despite your anxiety with the whole thing.

“Stop it, both of you.” Jeongin quipped, waving off your complaints. “We’ll be fine. Just… be cool about it, you know?”

“Be _cool_?”

“Yes, Lix. Cool. You remember what it was like to be that?”

“Oh you little-”

“Christ, I need a drink. Pick it up, let’s go.” Hyunjin sighed once more, clearly growing more exasperated with each passing second as he ushered the three of you along, his broad back leading the way down the barren street that was lit only by tall, amber streetlights and the occasional passing car.

You supposed he knew this area well, that they all did, in fact, as demonstrated by the confidence they seemed to hold here. The downtown area of the city was well known for its’ seedy bars and nightclubs, and you’d had your fair share of visits, admittedly. Though you had yet to come across a place that welcomed vampires, of all people. So you’d coloured your curiosity piqued the moment Hyunjin had parked up his saloon Jaguar in a quiet alley on the outskirts of town, opting to walk the rest of the way. You imagined his reasoning to be that of common sense, that cars _that_ lavish aren’t a common sight, especially not downtown, and it would only raise questions as to the owner. They wanted to avoid that. So did you.

A small shiver gripped you as the cool midnight air whipped around your bare legs, exposed thanks to the leather skirt that sat snug around your hips. The so-called nosebleed inducer.

“You cold?” Felix asked, concerned.

“No, I’m good. I’ll warm up soon.”

He nodded in understanding, pulling you closer as he opted to wrap an arm around your shoulders. Despite the cold he radiated most of the time, he felt warmer to you now than he ever had.

“You know,” he muttered under his breath, though you were sure his brothers could hear him, “you really look great. Knockout, in fact.”

“Knockout? Wow.” You repeated, laughing quietly.

He hummed in response, glancing at you through his peripherals, a small smirk plastered to his lips.

“If only the other two could see you like this. I’m almost glad they don’t get to.”

You knew he was referring to Minho and Chan, and you resisted the urge to ask him not to bring them up with the way your chest ached at the simple thought of them. His compliment and reference to them had come entirely from a place of good nature, he simply wanted you to know how good he thought you looked, and how they would too by comparison. You knew that.

But it didn’t stop it hurting. You could only hope that would be his last reference of the night.

“Just down here.” Hyunjin called, gesturing to an alley that branched out into a wider street.

You followed as best you could, as quickly as your stiletto heeled boots would allow, the clacking of the cobbles under your feet acting as the only sound that broke the almost eerie silence.

Until the three of you approached a large metal shutter, its’ presence entirely sheathed to any potential patrons through a total lack of signage or propaganda of any kind. You would have walked straight past it if you hadn’t had it pointed out to you.

Hyunjin stood before it, flashing you a knowing smile before he rapped several times on the corrugated metal. The sound rang through the alley, gradually falling silent once more as you waited for something to happen, your heart rate quickening all the while.

“What is this place?” You muttered to Felix, your eyes never moving from the shutter.

“It’s our own little slice of heaven.” He murmured, tightening his grip around your shoulders. “Or hell. Guess it on depends how you look at it.”

You wanted to question more, wanted to find out exactly what you were walking into with a group of vampires, but weren’t granted such an opportunity. A small panel in the shutter door opened, a pair of eyes flashing over the four of you before it promptly closed again.

The scraping sound of metal against itself raked through the alley as the shutter was lifted, yet it only opened halfway.

“Come on.” Hyunjin smiled, ducking under the door and disappearing behind it.

Jeongin followed, gracing you with a wink before he did so.

“Ready?” Felix asked, though you were sure he knew the answer.

“No.”

“Great. I’d be worried if you were.”

With that, he took your hand, leading you carefully under the shutter door and into the place that they considered to be their little slice of heaven.

Clammy palms and a racing heart claimed you, and you wondered what something would have to be for a vampire to consider it a paradise.

You wondered what that would make it for a human.

* * *

##### You should have known that these boys and their penchant to subvert your expectations were a norm by now, yet you still found yourself getting taken by surprise at every possible turn.

Your mind had thundered with the possibilities of what could be contained in the walls of this club, and you’d known without a doubt that it was just that the moment you’d stepped inside. The familiar odour of stale alcohol, the faint boom and consecutive thud of a bass line, they were things you knew all too well.

A club in itself wouldn’t have been an issue. But a club _for_ vampires? Or a club that welcomed vampires, at the very least, had to be something of major note, you supposed.

Yet as it turned out, it was about as ordinary as a club could get, in the most bewildering sense imaginable.

Throngs of people gathered at the central dance floor, illuminated only by the spinning plethora of spotlights that hung from metal ceiling beams all the way along the central area. Walls of black fur and leather gave the place a cosy feel, while neat booth seats and glass tables lined the walls, packed with groups of friends or home to a more intimate display of affection that was no doubt induced with alcohol. Or so you hoped.

A crowded pristine steel bar claimed the very back wall, mirrored glass shelves housed liquors of all types and ages, and you could feel the excitement building as you crossed the floor towards it, Felix keeping his hand firmly in yours.

At a glance, you wouldn’t have been able to tell a vampire apart from a human here with the way everyone seemed to mingle together. Usually, there would have been a clear segregation of the species, with vampires restricted to their own area while the humans stayed in another. And that was even if the venue allowed for them at all, which was rare.

“Are there others here?” You called to Felix, scooting up behind him to get closer to his ear.

“Other what?”

“You know…” You stammered, suddenly loathe to say the word out loud, as if it was some kind of big secret. “Others like you?”

Felix turned to you, pursing his lips in amusement.

“What do you think?”

That was all the confirmation you needed, and so you simply nodded as Felix dragged you through the crowd. You eventually approached the other side of it, Felix pulling you to his front as he pushed you to the only space at the bar beside Hyunjin and Jeongin. He held you in front of him, caging you in at either side with his arms. It was purely an act of protection, and while you weren’t sure you needed it, you were grateful nonetheless.

A single wave of Hyunjin’s arm seemed to attract the clearly stressed barman, despite the line of other people that was running three deep. He nodded in knowing, dropping what he was doing and jogging over to him almost immediately.

Perhaps they held more importance here than they’d let on.

You watched in awe as Hyunjin leaned over the bar, muttering something in the staff’s ear. Another nod of recognition, and the gentleman got to work without a second thought.

Hyunjin stood up straight, looking around the club with ease as he seemed to tower above everyone else, if only through pure stature alone.

“It’s busier than I’d like it to be.”

“It’s Saturday night, man. What did you expect?” Jeongin quipped, resting on his elbows as he scanned over the intoxicated crowd.

“Hey, listen,” Hyunjin called, leaning over Jeongin towards you, “I know Lix told you you’re safe, but I still wouldn’t do anything stupid. Your stench is masked a little by the booze and other humans here, but that doesn’t make you undetectable.”

“My stench?!” You retorted, clearly offended.

“Your blood, sweetheart.” Felix confirmed, patting your shoulder affectionately. “It reeks. Think of it like the sweetest perfume you’ve ever smelled. Then times it by ten. That’s how you smell to us.”

You shifted in Felix’s arms, his words of warning not sitting well with you. You instinctively reached up to your chest, an effort to touch the one thing that brought you comfort in moments like this, only to remember its’ absence as your fingers connected with your décolletage.

“You don’t need it.” Felix reassured, noticing your exasperation. “I’m here. Nothing will touch you.”

Once again, you found yourself being more than grateful for Felix’s presence. But you still would have felt more at ease with your pendant secure around your neck.

Before too long, four glasses were placed on the bar before you, and Hyunjin handed them out systematically. The liquid inside was clear yet laced with bubbles, as was theirs, and for a moment you wanted to laugh at yourself. Or more specifically, at the notion that their choice of drink had surprised you. Had you honestly believed they’d simply be handed a glass of blood and encouraged to chug?

You took a cautionary sniff of the drink, and the sweet smell of it almost made your teeth hurt. It was assuredly laced with alcohol, the sharp tang to it told you that, but you’d never before smelled a liquor that appeared to be entirely made from sugar.

“Drink up, darling.” Jeongin winked, bringing his own drink to his lips before he necked it back in one strong gulp.

“Take your time.” Felix countered, glaring disapprovingly at his brother.

You supposed that the latter advice was probably the best in this case, seeing as you didn’t actually know what it was you were drinking, and so, you tentatively brought the glass to your lips, tipping it back just enough for a taste.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t half as sweet as it seemed it would be. Undertones of citrus offset the sharpness of the alcohol itself, while the bubbles gave it the texture of something akin to soda. You could almost drink it and imagine it to be such a thing. And that, was surely dangerous.

“Let’s go.” Hyunjin called, gesturing to the rear of the club.

The three of you followed behind him, Felix never leaving your side all the while, until you got to a quieter area of the venue, where a secluded booth seat sat roped off with red posts. Hyunjin tossed the ropes aside, sliding elegantly into the left side, followed by Jeongin.

“Go ahead.” Felix smiled, ushering you into the right side of the booth.

“Are we allowed to be here?” You asked, noting the way Hyunjin had made quick work of the clear no-go zone. “This looks like it’s reserved for VIP or something…”

“Oh, kitten.” Hyunjin laughed, slinging his arm to the back of the seat, swirling his drink around in the other. “We’re the most important people here.”

* * *

##### You couldn’t be sure how many drinks deep you were by now.

And miraculously, despite the firm claim that alcohol had on you, things had yet to go wrong. In truth, thoughts of despair in any form were the furthest thing from your mind, and you honestly couldn’t remember a time you’d felt as good as you did now.

The glass table in front of you was laden with empty glasses and bottles, and true to their word, the boys hadn’t left your side all night.

You’d laughed until you cried, and drunk. Regaled each other with stories of your misdemeanours or theirs, and drunk. Actively joined in when they appeared to poke fun at each other, and drunk even more.

“Hey!” Jeongin called, catching your attention. “You wanna see something cool?”

You nodded before he’d even finished his sentence, utterly enamoured with the thought of seeing something ‘cool’. If it were cool for a vampire, it would surely be so much more for you.

“Jeongin, you shouldn’t.” Felix chided, rolling his eyes disapprovingly.

“Relax, it’ll be fine. See that couple behind us, Y/N?”

You glanced over his shoulder, in the direction he’d gestured. There was indeed a couple sat in the booth seat behind you, though you wouldn’t have been able to tell they were such. Both of them sat in total silence, glued to their phones, their eyes occasionally flitting from the tops of their screens at alternate times, never managing to close the eye contact. It was frosty at best, the clear aftermath of an argument, or something worse.

“What about them?” You shrugged, directed at Jeongin.

“Just watch…”

And so you did, a mischievous smirk plastered to the younger’s face as he turned in his seat. He tapped the guy on the shoulder, causing him to do what most people would when they’re beckoned like that, yet before he had a chance to say anything in questioning of the distraction, Jeongin brought his hand to his lips, palm outstretched.

He pursed his lips, a gentle blow of air across the flat of his hand, straight into the face of the stranger. The girl beside him was next, Jeongin repeating the action of breath blowing, and it was over as quickly as he began.

“You’re welcome.” He winked, slinking back into his seat as you simply watched in wide eyed awe.

The effect was almost instant, aside from the several seconds of blinking and comprehension from the couple. As if they’d been slapped across the face, they seemed to see one another for the first time as they finally connected that long lost eye contact. Any trace of the prior frosty atmosphere slipped away, their hands joining and their lips meeting in a display of apology that would undoubtedly transform to something far more intimate in no time.

“Well look at you,” Hyunjin cooed, poking Jeongin’s chest affectionately, “ever the little matchmaker, huh?”

“I do what I can.” He beamed, raising his eyebrows at you knowingly.

“What was that?” You drawled, still utterly confounded with the magical display.

“Honestly? I don’t really know. I call it my little aphrodisiac, seems to just make people crazy horny.”

Felix laughed under his breath, shaking his head in defeat.

“He calls it that, but it’s more like a form of sexual inducement. Or, that would be the technical term, anyway. He’s an erosblood, through and through.”

Another erosblood. Had you not been so incapacitated in that moment, you’d have assuredly dug for more answers, bombarded him with questions.

But with the alcohol that seeped your senses, it appeared another need was making itself known, more pressing than any quiz or interview. You’d all but forgotten the grave danger that lurked beyond the comfort of the booth.

“I wanna dance!” You called, nudging Felix to get his attention.

“D- Dance? Really?”

You nodded in confirmation, putting on your best pleading pout.

“Y/N, it’s kinda crowded, I don’t think-”

“Please? Pretty, pretty please, Lixie?” You whined, shaking your shoulders at him in a way that you wouldn’t have dared to had you been sober.

He rolled his eyes in exasperation, sparing a glance at the other boys.

“Just take her.” Hyunjin laughed, dismissing Felix’s concerns with an embellished wave of his hand. “We’ll be right here if there’s trouble.”

“There won’t _be_ any trouble, Jinnie.”

“J- Jinnie?!” Hyunjin choked, clearly caught off guard by your impromptu shortening of his name, another thing you wouldn’t have done if you weren’t so intoxicated.

“Really? You know how it gets out there-”

“She can handle it.” Jeongin interrupted, a wry smile crossing his lips. “And if she can’t, guess she wasn’t all that strong to begin with.”

Felix pursed his lips, clearly still hesitant until he turned back to you, your hand now pawing at his shoulder in desperation.

“Fine,” Felix sighed, taking your hand in his, “but you stay close to me. Glued to me. You are not to leave my side. Got it?”

You gave a light squeal of excitement as everything seemed to be going your way, sliding eagerly out of the booth with him as he led you to the dance floor.

It appeared now to be even more crowded than before, the prolonged effect of copious amounts of alcohol and other tensions clearly taking their toll on the patrons that writhed and moved together. Some in groups, others in couples, and some alone.

You’d surmised earlier that you couldn’t tell human apart from vampire, but now that you were closer, you knew that to be wrong.

It was glaringly obvious which among them were of supernatural origin.

Because _those_ people were surrounded on all sides by enamoured humans. Their beauty was undeniable, even in the purple hued glow of the club lights and vignetted darkness, there could be no mistaking them for a natural thing. Women and men clung to their sides, grinding and clawing at them as they danced, each one of them receiving equal attention from the object of their desires. Your steps were cushioned intermittently by something soft as Felix led you through the dazed crowd, and a glance down to your feet identified them as items of clothing. A flush of warmth swept your cheeks, your next instinctive action to search for the owners of said clothing, but it didn’t take much looking.

Semi naked people were dispersed throughout the crowd, clearly captured in some form of trance that rendered them weaker than you’d thought possible. They danced like they were possessed, to a tune you couldn’t hear, faces blanked out in a state of euphoria that seemed to heighten with the touches of the vampires that claimed them, taunted them.

It was dizzying, something you weren’t prepared for in any capacity, and you assumed this to be what Felix had been concerned about. To describe it as intense would have been doing it a severe injustice.

“Come here.” He called, pulling your body to his.

You connected with him quickly, out of the reach of any other patrons that soon turned their heads to Felix. You couldn’t focus on any one thing, couldn’t silence the clamouring in your head for the deafening thud of the bass line, your vision blurring.

“Look at me.”

It was a simple command, one that the tone of his voice demanded your compliance with immediately. And so you did.

Hands curved over Felix’s shoulders, you focused your vision on him. On his stunningly deep crimson eyes, the porcelain complexion of his skin. The way he seemed to glow under the spotlights, he soon became the only thing you could see.

Your heartbeat slowed, that earlier feeling of tinged excitement returning to you as he smiled sweetly. Everything around you blurred to the background, every temptation carried on as though you weren’t even there.

His arms tight around your waist, he began to sway you gently, his movements guiding you along with the music.

“You’re okay.” He mouthed, never neglecting you even a second of his attention.

You nodded in understanding, a semblance of rational thought returning. He gave you back a measure of your senses, the ones that weren’t dulled by the alcohol, and in that moment, you could have been anywhere.

You took a step back from him, just enough to let him know you were okay, his grip loosening to allow you the distance. You took his hands instead, picking up the pace of your dancing, encouraging him to go along with you.

It didn’t take long before the two of you were truly dancing like no one else was watching, smiles and laughter from both of you fuelling the other on. Your feet began to ache, yet you didn’t feel it. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead and neck, yet you didn’t care that they might be rendering you less than presentable. You were captured in a state of pure happiness, every conceivable stress and worry evaporating from you the longer you were with him.

You also didn’t notice the way he appeared to be fielding you. Felix was Felix, and even without his ethereal beauty and inherent appeal, he drew people to him. The occasional human that found themselves looking twice would approach him, before he promptly spun the two of you away, never sparing a glance in their direction. Subtle movements and dips of his arms would separate you from the would-be intruders, and you’d carry on as though nothing had happened. Because truly, it hadn’t.

You wanted to thank him. Wanted to hug him tightly and tell him how grateful you were for this, if you thought you stood a chance of letting go.

He’d been right.

You had needed this.

* * *

##### The ache in your feet that you’d been able to dull before was now threatening to knock you off them.

You were out of breath, tired yet still buzzed, your energy seeming to have failed you before you’d had the chance to expel all of it.

Felix, on the other hand, appeared to be raring to go, dancing just as fervently as he had when you’d started. Draw that up to vampires and their endless stamina.

“Hey!” You called, gesturing for him to come closer. “Lix!”

“What?!”

“I need a break… I’m going back to the table!” You shouted, using your hands as more of an indicator to save your voice from the strain of being heard over the music.

He nodded in response, flashing you a thumbs up as he continued dancing, smile plastered to his face and hips fluid in their movement.

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, and you were honestly glad to see him that way. Felix having fun was a sight to behold, now that he’d loosened up.

Turning on your heel, you began to walk away from him, working your way carefully through the throngs of heated people and general intoxication. You were keenly aware, despite your fuzzy state, of Hyunjin’s words from earlier. That doing anything stupid would draw attention to you in the worst of ways, particularly due to your apparent scent. So you dipped through gaps in the people, never too forceful when you had to guide someone out of your way.

Reaching the other end with little incident, you took a deep inhale, straightening your dress around you and swiping your arm across your clammy forehead.

When a sudden pressure in your bladder presented another urgency, now that you had a chance to catch your breath.

You looked around as best you could, searching for any sign of a bathroom nearby. Seeing none, you decided to head to the closest place you could find someone who’d tell you. And from where you were, that happened to be the bar.

You wandered over to it hastily, wobbling dangerously in your booted stilettos until you found the bar in front of you for support. Leaning over it, you flagged down the barman with much the same technique you’d seen Hyunjin do earlier, and were subsequently disappointed to find him ignoring you completely.

And so you waited, bouncing on your feet with impatience, waving at every possible opportunity to get his attention before he eventually came to serve the person next to you. And you took that as your chance, not believing you’d get another one.

“Hey, excuse me-”

Another brushoff as he continued to take the other persons’ order, as though he couldn’t hear you at all.

“Hey! Hello?!”

He shot a glare in your direction before walking away from you, and that only sent your blood to boil.

“Un-fucking-believable. So much for customer service!” You cursed loudly, flipping him a firm finger before you turned indignantly on your heel.

You’d just have to find it yourself.

In any normal club you’d have assumed the toilets to be a fairly accessible place, as indicated by signage of some kind, or at the very least, a queue of people waiting to get in. But here, there seemed to be no such thing. It was wildly frustrating.

Looking around the place, you decided to take a quick lap around the outskirts of the main area, in the hopes you’d find something that even remotely resembled what you were looking for.

And so, you gathered yourself, stumbling through the gatherings of people, both drunk and sober, both human and vampire, being careful not to let the alcohol get the better of you all the while. Glances and second looks were thrown in your direction as you passed, and while you were doing your utmost to look as unassuming as possible, you knew you had no control over the thing that could put you in the most danger. Your goddamn scent.

With newfound haste in your uncertain step, you approached a darker area near the rear of the club, spying a staircase that disappeared around a corner to an apparent second floor. Lit on all sides by small spotlights, you figured it was as good a place to try as any with the lack of luck you’d had so far.

Taking careful hold of the smooth silver banister, you began to climb up the stairs, one tentative, shaky step at a time.

Rounding the corner, you spotted a door at the very top, a sign of some description plastered to the front of it. You couldn’t see it from your current position, yet even when you approached it, your blurred vision and clouded state of mind didn’t allow for more interpretation. It was simply a collage of black letters on a white surface, and had you known better in that moment, you probably wouldn’t have gone inside.

Yet you didn’t know better.

Didn’t give it a second thought as you tenderly pushed down the gilded handle, cracking open the door. Didn’t have a concern when you stepped inside the room that, almost immediately, cloaked you in a freezing temperature.

It was only when you pushed aside the heavy velvet curtain that concealed the archway in front of you. It was only when your fogged gaze absorbed what you’d walked in on, did you realise that you shouldn’t have entered.

The sinful scene in front of you struck you with an impact so sobering, so grounding, you had to fight the urge to throw up.

“Well…” A voice purred, one that came from bloodied lips and a mouth that housed razor sharp teeth.

“What little snack do we have here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	12. Chapter 12

##### “Well… what little snack do we have here?”

Your mouth ran utterly dry at the address, not a shadow of doubt in your mind that you were indeed, said little snack.

An immediate rooting of your feet to the floor gripped you, overshadowed only by the conflicting urge to run, despite your shocked loss of function. Yet you knew that any attempt to do so would be wildly futile, given what you’d just walked in on.

And that, essentially, appeared to be a room full of blood drunk vampires, at various stages of unthinkable sin.

The room itself was lavish, the décor sporting hues of black, dark red, and royal purple. Plush sofas and reclining armchairs called it home, sleek tables laden with empty glasses and bottles, iced buckets of vintage champagnes and crystal ashtrays. The music here wasn’t dissimilar to that of the club proper, a gratuitous EDM track that no doubt masked the moans and cries that would have otherwise filled this room. There wasn’t a window in sight, yet thick black curtains lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and you could only speculate as to the things they concealed.

Semi and totally naked humans, men and women alike, lay draped over some of the most beautiful vampires you’d ever seen, a few of them equally as bereft of their own modesty. Blood ran freely down their forms, decorating them grisly canvases. It stained the few clothes that remained, seeping into the fabric, spreading across them like an infection.

Several of them were caught in embraces of pure lust, your intrusion clearly not posing a problem of any kind as they continued to fuck and writhe together, on the sofas, the floor, against the walls, some in groups, some in couples. Everywhere you looked, there was a form of depravity taking place, and the latent panic and fire it sparked in you was utterly bewildering.

And in the centre of it all, sat atop a chair that wasn’t unlike a throne in its’ stature, gilded and cushioned with red velvet, was the one who’d addressed your entrance.

He wore a sharp black suit, legs crossed elegantly, reclining in his seat like the scene around him was an every day occurrence. You supposed it could have been, given his apparent aloofness to it. His midnight black tresses were swept back over his forehead, parted at one side in a handsome quiff that highlighted the sharp cut of his jawline. He was broad in stature, there was no doubt about that even from where you were standing, his legs long and suit taut in all the right places.

It would have been wildly unfair to call him handsome, as was usual with those of his kind.

Traces of blood lingered at his lips, on his fingertips, a naked, groaning woman hung from his knee as though she’d die if she were sent away. Like her very life essence was linked to him, and telling from the clear pin marks that decorated her neck and chest, oozing blood, you found that idea to be feasible, as well as the explanations for the stains that adorned him. For the blazing shade of crimson his eyes adopted, fresh from the feed.

He cocked his head at you, an expression of ardent wonder laced to his features. You swallowed, trying desperately to find the words you wanted to say. Yet they escaped you, as did every other one of your senses.

“I don’t believe you were invited to our soiree, darling.” The man purred, dipping a bloodied fingertip into the gummy crevice behind his lower lip, not unlike a cocaine addict with their fix.

“How did you get in here?”

You shook your head as if to say something, the drumming of your heart only quickening.

“Cat got your tongue?” He asked, uncrossing his leg and leaning forwards in his seat, one large hand soothing the hair of the woman that clung to him. “Can you not speak?”

Words caught in your throat, your eyes wide with rising fear.

“I- I…”

“You…?”

“I j- just… I was looking for the b- bathroom.”

A wry smile crossed the man’s lips, a subsequent chuckle escaping him.

“The bathroom?” He mused, pushing himself from the chair, much to the lament of the enraptured woman.

He straightened out his suit jacket, cracking his neck before he strode towards you, one languid step at a time.

“Does this appear to be the bathroom, dearest?”

You shook your head once more, feverish in your response, though your body temperature was just as hot. You wondered what your chances were of running, how much distance you’d be able to put between you and this grisly affair before you were caught.

Not enough, you supposed.

“You have yet to answer my question,” he drawled, stopping not a foot away from you, “how did you get in?”

“Through the door…”

“The door?” He repeated, his eyes flashing with something resembling anger. “Did my people not stop you?”

You took a step backwards, hoping he wouldn’t notice your intention to leave back the way you came.

“N- No… There was no one there.”

His jaw tensed with your admission, clear rage crossing his features at the undoubted failing of someone he’d obviously entrusted with keeping this room free from wanderers such as yourself. You pitied the poor soul that was responsible for that.

“Well then,” he sighed, edging closer as you retreated, maintaining the measure of distance between you at all times, “that poses quite the problem.”

“P- Problem?”

He hummed in response, sliding his hands to his pockets nonchalantly.

“Please don’t be naive, girl. You know you weren’t supposed to see this. News of what goes on here getting out would be… a _terrible_ detriment to my business.”

 _His_ business? Did he… own this place?

“I… I won’t tell anyone. I don’t care, r- really.”

You knew it was pointless to appeal to him. He’d clearly made his decision the moment you’d walked through that curtain. Your fate had been sealed.

“This doesn’t have to be difficult.” He continued, as if you hadn’t attempted a case of defence. “On the contrary, in fact… I can make this _so_ much more pleasurable than you know.”

The beginnings of tears stung at your eyes, your head throbbed with palpable stress. Every muscle in your body was tensed in readiness, yet you couldn’t be sure what for. Perhaps it was instinct. Unarmed and undefended, you knew you stood no realistic chance of fighting him off. And with the added effect of the booze, you’d no doubt suffer from slower reflexes than usual to boot.

He closed in on that foot of distance, his darkened tongue flicking across his bottom lip, smearing the prior traces of blood that claimed it. The blood of his previous victims, of the woman that was still pining after him.

Having no more room to move, you clutched at the archway curtain behind you, fingers curled into the heavy velvet at your back.

Now close enough to smell, you were awash with the scent of cigar smoke and the tang of iron that emanated from him. His skin was the purest of white, several locks of his impossibly black hair falling free over his eyes.

He reached out to you, cold, stained fingertips gracing your chin as he tilted it upwards.

“Tell me your name…”

You choked out a sob, shoulders quaking helplessly.

“Y/N.”

He smiled sweetly, a look of near sympathy on his face. As if he were admiring a piece of art before it was set to burn, his hand slid to the side of your neck.

“Y/N…” He muttered, gaze raking from your eyes to your lips. “Don’t be fearful, sweet thing. I’ll be good to you. Embrace the euphoria of death… You won’t even know it when your heart stops.”

The scene around you continued without abandon, seeming only to increase in fervour as your demise neared. The sounds of illicit groans and cries of desire, visions of flowing blood and naked forms, it sent you reeling to a chasm of inexplicable despair.

Your head was tilted aside, your lids fluttered closed as the sheer presence of the man overwhelmed you, despite the way your insides churned.

His lips parted, tinted fangs exposed. Long fingers laced into your hair, holding your head in place, and time seemed to still as he leaned in. His breath on your skin, the sharp prick of teeth teased at the surface, ready to pierce.

And you took your opportunity.

Steeling your nerves, you acted as quickly as you could. Utilised every bit of strength left in your body as you clung to the heavy curtain behind you. You wrenched it from your back, tossing it with a grunt in his general direction, and while you hadn’t been sure what you’d wanted to achieve, it surprised him enough that he released his grip on you momentarily.

The flow of the material and his struggle with it created an opening for you, and you jumped at it. Tears streaming down your face, a clear sting spread to your neck where the fangs had connected, and you spun on your heel.

You lurched for the door, tugging it open with as much force as you could muster, straight back to the stairway that had brought you here.

Yet you were stopped in your tracks.

Rendered dazed and deaf as you ran straight into something before you, and you would have crashed to the floor with the sheer impact of it had it not been for the firm hands that steadied you at your waist.

Your vision starred, head spinning and any willpower drained from you, you released a gasping sob of defeat at the assumed capture. In that moment of despair, you could have screamed for Felix. For Hyunjin, or Jeongin.

For Minho. For Chan. For them to save you.

Yet as you blinked away the tears that clouded your eyes, glancing up at the person who’d doomed your escape, all manner of sorrow ceased to be.

This person was familiar. Heart-wrenchingly so in the immediate comfort his visage brought you, despite the way he was looking at you in unadulterated horror.

“Ch- Chan?”

Your barely audible whimper was all it took for him to yank you to his chest, his strong arms encircling you defensively. You clung to him with everything you had, the strength in your knees evaporating with the knowledge that he was here. He was with you.

And with as much danger as he himself posed at the best of times, it was meaningless now. Because you’d never felt safer.

Shouts from behind you rang through the corridor, exclamations to the effect of ‘after her’ and 'get the bitch’, indicating that your would-be attacker had presumably recovered.

The door you’d left through burst open once again, and several suited men hurled themselves through it, almost comical in the way their broad shoulders and stocky builds allowed them to pass at the same time.

Chan’s grip on you tightened, his hand at the back of your head kept it buried in his chest, as if trying to deliberately spare you of the sights to come. He didn’t want you to see. And you were grateful. You were sure your capacity for any more debauchery had been spent by now.

“Follow my lead, Y/N.” He muttered, barely audible in your ear before he held a stalwart hand up to the apparent security that had been sent after you.

And just as quickly, one after the other, booming footsteps stopped short at Chan’s obstacle.

“We need the girl.” One of them rasped, clearly too out of breath for the short distance he’d run.

Chan cocked his head, his challenging gaze telling everything they needed to know.

“Dion demands it.”

“Dion?” Chan repeated, his tone rough. “Dion knows better than to demand things from me. How about you take me to him, yeah?”

Confused glances between the suited men followed Chan’s request, whispers of uncertainty as to whether or not they should comply. And you didn’t miss the very blatant implication that they seemed to know each other. That Chan, knew someone like _him_.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t giving you a choice. Take me to him. Now.”

Something in his voice held such a clear air of authority, one that you’d never heard from him until now. It only reinforced that earlier feeling of safety, particularly with the way the men began to turn tail, gesturing for him to follow.

He gave you a reassuring squeeze, taking your hand from his chest and keeping it in his. The earlier tremors that claimed you had eased somewhat, yet the thought of going back into that room did nothing for your nerves. And that must have been written all over your face.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Chan muttered, positioning himself before you, “just stay close.”

You nodded in quiet agreement, not trusting your voice to remain stable were you to give a vocal response.

And so you followed him carefully, your hand tight in his, never more than an inch from his side as you huddled to it like a frightened child. The sheer irony of the situation wasn’t lost on you, the fact that a vampire, of all things, was now your sole source of comfort and reassurance, when it was _his_ kind that had instilled that very fear in you in the first place.

If the version of yourself from several weeks ago could see you now, you were sure she’d slap you.

You wandered back into the room, hesitant to say the least as the suited men held the heavy velvet curtain aside for you to enter. Not able to bring yourself to take in the scene you knew to be there, you held your gaze to the floor, doing your best to control your breaths.

Yet Chan appeared to be of a very different mind.

You felt the way his shoulders tensed as you entered. The way his jaw locked and his stance changed to one of rabid self defence almost immediately, yet you knew he wouldn’t be showing it on his face. He never did. Cool, calm and collected, would be the persona he gave off right now.

“Chan?!”

You recognised the voice of your earlier attacker, of the man who appeared to be responsible for the goings on here.

“Dion.”

“Tell me if my eyes deceive me, though I do not believe they do. How long has it been, comrade?” Dion drawled, footsteps crossing the floor towards the pair of you until Chan tugged you closer to his back in an act of protection, your hand still locked in his.

You could no longer avoid looking up with the sudden positioning, and the feeling of anxious dread that had been building only blossomed into something far more tangible as you realised the room was exactly as you’d left it. As sinful as you’d left it, if not moreso with the way the occupants appeared to be drowning in their concoction of blood and sex. Your presence was of no more significance to them than a flickering light.

Dion flashed a glance at you, then at Chan, his initial expression of friendly greeting morphing to one of confusion, of disbelief.

“It’s been a while,” Chan replied, “I see you’ve done well for yourself.”

“Indeed…” Dion muttered, pursing his lips in thought, clearly choosing to make with the pleasantries before anything else. “You realise your boys frequent my place though, yes? Why do you never come around? Why not join them? Is it in avoidance of me?”

Chan shrugged, either not wanting to elaborate in present company or for genuinely not having a good reason. You wondered which it was.

“It’s got nothing to do with you. I prefer to keep to myself now. The boys do what they must… They’re young. I don’t deny them their urges.”

A chuckle escaped Dion, though it wasn’t one of humour.

“You say that as if your own urges take no precedence.” He drawled, running his stained fingers through his sleek black locks. “I remember a time where-”

“That was a long time ago.” Chan interrupted quickly, deadpan in his tone. “Things are different now. I’m… different. You know that.”

Another flashing glance was spared in your direction, Dion’s eyes narrowing in gradual understanding.

“I do. And I still maintain it a tragic shame.” He sighed, spinning on his heel and returning to his makeshift throne.

“So being as you’re not here to indulge those urges, comrade,” he mused, throwing his legs over the arm, “it does beg the question as to why you’re here at all?”

Chan took a step closer, making sure to keep you close.

“You tried to claim this one.” He explained, tilting his head in your direction. “I can’t allow that.”

As ridden with fear as you were, as clouded as your thoughts had become thanks to the latent panic and alcohol, you realised enough to know what was happening here. It was vampire culture, though not a side that you’d seen before.

For Chan to put a 'claim’ on you, was to mark you as his territory. Off limits to others, in a manner of speaking, though as far as you knew it was a centuries old parley that was rarely adhered to in the modern day. And that only sparked your curiosity as just _how_ long Dion and Chan had known each other for him to use that as a tactic and hope it would stand even a remote chance of success.

“It’s yours?” Dion asked, chin resting on the palm of his hand.

“She is.”

“I’d advise you keep a tighter leash on your pups, friend. It has no business being here without its’ Sire, wouldn’t you agree?”

Chan nodded, your hand being subject to an unseen reassuring squeeze before the next words left his mouth.

“She’s still new to this. I allow her the occasional slip up. But this won’t go unpunished, Dion, you have my word.”

You knew he was playing along. Putting on a show, if only for Dion’s benefit. Yet somewhere deep down, you knew there had to be an element of truth to it. In the chaos that had ensued you’d almost forgotten that you’d broken the rules of your captivity, and whether or not that was with the aid of his brothers, there would surely be consequences when you returned. _If_ , you returned.

“I don’t doubt it,” Dion smiled, mindlessly carding his fingers through the hair of the woman who had returned to hanging at his knee, “but might I suggest a punishment of sorts?”

Chan cocked his head, shoulders raising a minuscule amount.

“Look at what it’s seen here. At what it’s been privy to. You of all people should understand, that news of our soirees getting to the… less than tolerant humans, would be catastrophic for me. This place only works because they allow it to, I’m not naive to that. I keep up the facade of a mundane business owner, they leave me alone. For the most part.”

He smiled once more, an action entirely too saccharine sweet for what you felt he was about to suggest.

“With that being said… It must be put down, Chan. Like the lame pup it is. Put to sleep, never to reawaken.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your eyes widening with panic all over again. Even with Chan here, you were still outnumbered if all the dazed sinners somehow managed to come to their senses. And you had no doubt they would, if Dion commanded it.

“No.”

Chan’s response was immediate. A point of instinct, almost, like he’d known what the suggestion would be before Dion had even made it.

“Are you… refusing me?” Dion asked, his tone eerily soft.

“What do I stand to gain from that? I would suffer a clear loss, Dion. This is something I can control.”

“Control?” Dion scoffed, sitting up straight in his seat. “You’ll forgive me my scepticism, but by all accounts you can’t even keep tabs on its’ whereabouts.”

Chan rolled his eyes at that, though clearly had no decent rebuttal to give.

He spared a quick glance in your direction through his peripherals, and if the action held some meaning, you’d missed it. This seemed to be derailing further by the second, and you wondered how long it would be before you had to resign yourself to the inevitable. This couldn’t end without blood being spilled.

“Listen…” the dark haired man interjected, “the night grows tired. We have nothing but time, I know, but tonight it seems to be running away from us. So I’ll make you an offer. I don’t expect you to leave here empty handed, Chan. No… it’d be remiss of me to do so. I’m a business man, before anything else. That makes me only as good as my word.”

He dragged one leg from the arm of his chair, his head cocked in challenge.

“So, you put the pup down as per my request, and I’ll replace it. My worries are remedied, and your loss is rectified. How’s that?”

“I-”

“I’ll even let you have your pick of the bunch, for old times sake. What’s your preference these days? Exotic? Plain Jane’s? I cater for all tastes, friend. And I’d consider the replacement an upgrade, given what you’re in current ownership of.” He embellished, throwing a degrading leer your way.

A slathering grin crossed Dion’s lips as he finished his proposition, and admittedly, if you were to place yourself in his shoes, you would have seen it as fool proof. No room to argue, no need for negotiation.

Yet you weren’t in his shoes. You, in this instance, were the pup. The object of nuisance that was being discussed as though you weren’t even there, your fate being tossed between the bloodied hands of two vampires. And you couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.

Chan shook his head, his lip catching between his teeth in a moment of tension.

You wondered what he was battling with. If the meanings he’d attached to you, your worth to WAHVA and more importantly, the threat he believed you posed through them, were enough to get him to defend you. You wondered if he was considering the offer, because quite frankly, you couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t. It might even be the solution he’d been seeking. Your demise at the hands of another party would remove all liability from Chan and his brothers, while also ridding him of your presence.

You couldn’t see a reason for him _not_ to take it.

“I can’t do that, Dion.”

Chan’s reply was solid, his tone so stable it was as if he’d never needed a second thought to be spared on the subject. A flash of anger crossed the other vampires’ face, his expression dropping.

“I implore you to reconsider-”

“No.” Chan repeated, his voice more authoritative than you’d ever heard. “I appreciate the offer. I do. But it’s not my decision to make alone. All my brothers think fondly of her, I can’t rob them of that.”

“Your brothers?” Dion snarled, pushing himself from his chair. “Are you not the leader? Did you lose your spine in addition to everything else the years we’ve been apart, comrade? I knew your _new_ clan had softened you, but I can’t quite believe what I’m hearing-”

“Believe it. She is irreplaceable to me. To us. In more ways than one. The void she’d leave behind couldn’t be filled by one of your second hand blood bags, and I don’t need to see them to know that.”

The veins in Dion’s necks pulsed, his eyes blazing a shade brighter with the shame of rejection he was no doubt feeling, his glare flicking between the two of you.

Yet you, somewhere in the middle of that conversation, had been soothed of the earlier fear you’d held. What you experienced now was more humbling, a feeling so profound that you were sure you hadn’t felt it before.

_She is irreplaceable to me. To us._

Had you heard him correctly?

“I’ve always known you to be stubborn.” Dion spat, stalking towards the two of you. “I admired it once upon a time. Yet it saddens me to see just how foolish you’ve become.”

Chan tensed in readiness, once more positioning himself in front of you. It was a defensive action, and if Dion missed it before, he certainly didn’t now.

He stopped in his tracks, as if a realisation had suddenly seized him. With the way his expression morphed to sheer amusement, he held a hand up to the two of you, the other clamped over his blood stained lips.

“Friend,” he scoffed, his voice muffled through his fingers, “please tell me that this… _attachment_ you’ve formed to the pup is platonic? That the care you have for it only extends to its’ use?”

Chan hesitated, words hanging from the tip of his tongue, and that only spurred the other vampire on. You hadn’t missed the way your heart picked up speed, your eyes locking to Chan’s side profile before he turned away from you.

“Tell me…” he laughed, gesturing wildly with his hand, “you say it’s irreplaceable, but how so? Do not think I haven’t spied how clean the thing appears. There’s not a single sign of defilement upon it. But you’ve surely drunk from it, yes?”

More silence, and Chan’s shoulders shook gently with an emotion you couldn’t identify from here. You couldn’t be sure what was happening anymore.

Dion strode closer, dropping just enough to catch Chan’s line of sight.

“You haven’t… have you?”

“That’s none of your concern-”

“It’s my _every_ concern!” Dion cried, his fists balling with seemingly needless rage, his voice rising almost hysterically. “You forget what we used to be?! You shame our kind and our mere name with this idiocy! Tell me what value it holds if not to nourish you, if not to sate your every worldly desire?!”

Dion approached closer still, his nostrils flaring as his tirade went into full swing.

“Tell me why you refuse to exact the punishment it so rightly deserves?!”

Barely a foot of distance remained, Dion’s stature of defiance growing with every step, his mission to get a rise out of Chan being the only thing he centred on.

“Explain why you grant it free reign to wander as it pleases?!”

You noticed the way Chan grounded himself, the way he seemed to settle something inside him with how his shoulders squared and his jaw locked. Like there was only one way out of this now, and you needed to be prepared, inasmuch as you could be.

“Tell me why this _human_ ,” Dion snarled, as if the term were a dirty word, “is irreplaceable?!”

Whether Dion had won or not, whether Chan had withstood the onslaught of hostile questioning, or not, you were sure the end result would have been the same. Conflict seemed to have a way of making itself a priority.

Your breath hitched in your chest, your mind too overwhelmed to focus on any one thing that had been said, or the questions that had been asked. All you knew was that you were in as much need of answers to them as Dion had been, though your motivations for wanting them were undoubtedly different.

There’d been too much confusion. Too many unknowns and what-ifs, and with the next words from Chan’s lips, you knew them to be far from over.

“Because she’s the _fucking_ one!” He growled, taking a challenging step forward, his anger seething to the surface.

Dion recoiled at the display, though only momentarily.

“She’s the one I’ve been waiting for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	13. Chapter 13

##### “She’s the one I’ve been waiting for.”

Had you been anywhere else in that moment, you might have been able to speculate as to the meaning of Chan’s outburst. You could have contemplated why it was the first thing he chose to retort with in the heat of the confrontation, what it meant or how it made you feel.

Yet you were granted no such opportunity.

Because your situation had gone from bad to worse, in mere moments.

A wry smile crossed Dion’s lips, an expression of near sympathy being thrown in Chan’s direction. The way a mentor looks at their apprentice when they know them to be on the brink of making a thoughtless mistake.

The simple statement appeared to clarify everything Dion needed to know, yet that you could only ruminate over. He knew things you didn’t, and whether that was possible through his apparent long relationship with Chan, you couldn’t be sure. It almost didn’t matter.

Because a simple snap of Dion’s fingers brought the room to its’ senses.

The surrounding sinners and thralls, vampire and human alike, were abruptly pulled from their respective trances. Acts of sheer debauchery were cut short, glazed eyes cast in your direction as they untangled themselves and stood to attention.

One by one, stumbling and dazed, they approached Dion’s side, each one of them painted various canvases of aged blood and other substances that you could only dread to imagine as to their source.

“I suppose that would leave us at an impasse then, friend.” Dion drawled, his hands sliding to his pockets.

He cocked his head in confidence, his disgust ridden gaze once again spared your way.

“I fail to see the appeal, personally. The pup must be quite something for the _great_ Bang Chan to think so highly of it. Though you’re not ignorant to my disappointment, yes?”

“I’m not.” Chan replied, stalwart in his stance. “And I understand it. I feel it myself, sometimes.”

Dion scoffed, waving off the comment.

“Spare me the self deprecation. I know you better than to assume you wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t desire it. You blame your brothers for the refusal to punish the pup, that its’ absence would rob them of something dear. You take me for a blind fool, Chan.”

“Perhaps,” Chan shrugged, “but what difference does it make now? Cards on the table, I won’t hurt her. I won’t let _you_ hurt her.”

A single strained crack of Dion’s neck signified the tension in the air, and the subtle tremors had returned to you before you knew it.

“You can still let us leave. We can walk away from this. All of us.”

A low chuckle resounded from Dion, his thralls and submissives appearing to ready for the confrontation to come.

“Yes. We could,” he sighed, rolling his knuckles, “but this is a point of principal now. You bring shame on us with this fantasy of coexistence. You lost sight of the _true_ enemy a long time ago. And as a friend, I owe it to you to aid you in seeing sense. Just as I did all those years ago.”

Dion’s knees bent, his stance lowering like a tiger ready to pounce. Eyes focused on the two of you, a snarl smeared to his lips.

Chan tugged you backwards, shoving you to the wall behind him as quickly as he could.

“I’m sorry that it’s come to this…” Chan stated, turning his attention back to Dion and his lackeys. “Truly. I am.”

A subsequent growl from Dion indicated the end of his patience, and you could do nothing but watch the scene unfold.

And in all your years of life so far, you had yet to see anything so animalistic, so purely carnal play out before you.

A gust of momentous wind lurched towards Chan, Dion’s form disappearing with the movement. Everything happened so quickly you barely had time to register who was who, aside from the blurs of black and blonde that tangled together. Chan appeared to have caught him mid-lunge by his outstretched wrists, and a single sleek motion slung the vampire over his head, crashing him to the floor like his weight meant nothing with a deafening crack.

Yet Dion recovered just as quickly, broken bones appearing meaningless, enacting another pounce aimed at Chan’s legs. The blonde dodged effortlessly from his position just enough that Dion missed him, but the opening that created between yourself and the blood drunk vampire didn’t go unnoticed.

Dion’s fierce eyes locked to you, his target changing with the new situation. He tensed in readiness, and the scream that escaped you was simply curdling as you watched the feral expression of the vampire close in on your position, far too quickly for you to have a hope of avoiding it.

Until a strong arm around his neck tugged him backwards, stopping him in his tracks. Chokes and growls filled the room, sounds of a struggle between the two of them as Dion furiously clawed at any part of Chan he could reach, all while scrambling for you. His legs, his ribs, the clothes on the blonde’s body were reduced to ribbons before Chan managed to wrestle him to the ground, pinning him in place.

The thralls and dazed sinners had remained still until now, and it seemed that Dion’s struggle was the thing they’d been waiting for. Cries of lamentation and wails of despair pierced your ears, rung through your head, and before Chan could react, they attacked.

Shambling and frantic, they surged towards him and their Master as one collective body, each one of them flailing wildly without a particular target in mind. Whether or not the effect of an allure was what instructed them, you were almost sure it was linked to Dion directly, and with Chan atop him in the way that he was, his knee buried firmly in the back of the vampire’s neck, it seemed clear what their goal was. Because it was Dion’s goal.

To free him. To remove Chan, to save their Sire.

“Chan! Behind you!” You cried, fear gripping every part of you.

A quick glance over his shoulder in the direction of the thralls acted as a split second opening for the vampire below him, and a subsequent flashing of Dion’s taloned nails whipped a deep gash across Chan’s temple. Blood oozed from the wound, staining every part of his face and upper body, a cry of agony escaping him that sent your body running cold.

You wanted to scream once more, even if only out of frustration. You wanted to help somehow, to throw yourself in the foray for what little good it would do. You simply _had_ to help him.

“Run!” Chan shouted in your direction, his fangs on full display, the blood that decorated him essentially blinding him in one eye.

“I can’t-”

“Just fucking _go_!” He yelled, and his tone was unlike anything you’d ever heard. Panicked while still being strong, yet full of something you couldn’t identify.

And as if on cue, as if the despair that ran rampant throughout you had been heard, the velvet curtain beside you burst open.

“What the f-”

“Help him! Now!”

Felix’s exclamation of surprise was cut short by Hyunjin’s clear command, and the three vampires you’d come here with in the first place acted as the saviours you’d needed.

Hyunjin appeared to phase from existence, appearing behind Chan with Jeongin at his side almost instantly. The two of them fought off the oncoming thralls, tossing them aside and out of their vicinity with so little effort it was almost cruel. Yet the ones they diverted got back up after only seconds, shambling to their feet and charging all over again. Despite that, neither of them relented, seeming to go out of their way to avoid doing the enraptured slaves too much harm unless they got close enough to do any real damage.

“Felix! Get her out of here!” Chan shouted, his voice barely audible over the sounds of fighting and growls of hostility that flooded the place.

Yet Felix heard it, and he didn’t argue, didn’t question the instruction of his leader for a second as he ran towards you, grabbing you by the wrist.

“No! No, Felix, we can’t leave him, please-”

“Listen to me-” he stated, his eyes stern and calm, “Chan will be fine. The others are with him. They will _all_ be fine, but I have to get you away. If we stay, they _will_ kill you. And this would all be for nothing. Understand?”

You shook your head, a choked sob emitting from you as you failed to tear your eyes away from Chan and his bloodied form, the way he was still wrestling with Dion beneath him.

“Y/N! Do you understand me?!” Felix shouted, shaking you by your shoulders.

“Yes! Fuck, yes, I understand-”

“Then let’s go. With me.”

You cast another glance back at Chan, your vision blurring with tears and stress, a final check to make sure he wasn’t losing his battle.

You couldn’t be sure if you saw correctly, if your mind had conjured up gruesome scenes of its’ own making with the depravity you’d been subjected to.

Because as the velvet curtain swept back across the final image of Chan, eyes searing with the most intense shade of crimson you’d ever seen, utilising every bit of his profound strength to tear the very arm that had injured him from Dion’s battered body with a razing, splitting wail of psychotic rage, he was slathered in the spraying blood of his enemy, relishing in the morbid warmth and intoxication it could only offer a creature such as him. You faltered, reality seeming to dire to comprehend.

And you could no longer withstand the slaughter.

Your strength failed you, every joint in your body appearing to shut down and abandon their functions simultaneously. You recognised the way you fell, the expression of panic laced to Felix’s face as he watched you do so.

Perhaps it was self preservation. Your mind wrapping you in a haven of safety before you were broken to the point of non-repair.

All you knew for sure, was that you wholeheartedly welcomed the comforting blackness.

* * *

##### “But what are we going to do about it? Don’t you understand how fucked we are right now?”

“Seungmin, we don’t know anything yet. We’re better off just laying-”

“Chan, I swear to god, if you’re about to tell me that we need to lay low or be fucking careful, I’ll launch you out of that window myself.”

“You can try.”

“Hey! How about the two of you calm the fuck down? Arguing like this isn’t going to solve anything.”

“Jisung’s right. There’s no point to any of this. What’s done is done.”

“No point?! No point in planning a defence for the attack that we _know_ is coming, Hyunjin?! What’s done has been done because of _him_ -”

“Listen, I know you need someone to blame or whatever, but we all had a part to play in this, don’t forget that.”

“No. No, no. We didn’t all have a part to play, Chan. Some of us were right here, none the wiser as to what you idiots were doing. Why would you even take her out at all? And to _that_ club, of all places?! It’s catastrophic levels of fucking stupid-”

“Stop it, Changbin. We know we made a mistake, we don’t need you making us feel any worse about it.”

“I don’t think you feel nearly as bad about it as you should, Lix.”

The voices were louder than before.

They’d invaded your sleep lately. Made your body’s involuntary attempt at rest only more restless, though you could admit to being grateful for the diversion from your dreams. Because they did nothing to aid in your recovery. They were riddled with visions of blood and gore, a feeling of tension so tangible that it made your stomach hurt and your head throb. It was nothing you could escape from.

So as your lids fluttered open, your senses returned to you gradually. Recognition of whereabouts was the first thing. Your surroundings instilled a sense of comfort in you, inasmuch as you knew them on a base level. It was your room, for all intents and wicked purposes. Still much the same as you’d left it, with the exception of the occupants.

“Shut up, she’s awake-”

Much to your surprise, your first instinct on seeing the people before you, the feeling that swept over you as their visages sharpened with clarity, was not one of a grateful inclination.

Instead, as Chan approached you with a rushed sense of urgency in his step, you scrambled backwards up the bed, pulling the duvet with you as a form of pointless protection.

All you saw when you looked at him, all you could ever hope to see, was the grotesque scene you’d left behind before you’d blacked out at the club. The last thing you’d seen of him, and it made perfect sense that the most recent impression you were left with would be the singular thing you thought of when you saw him again.

He had displayed to you, albeit unwittingly, the purest form of a vampire you’d seen to date. He’d demonstrated in an almost perfect way, exactly what humans were scared of. What the horror stories told of.

Gripped by the hinges of unadulterated rage, he’d used his raw strength to remove someone of their extremities in much the same way he’d threatened to do to you, in times past.

You knew you should have been grateful. On the surface, his intentions you were sure had been good, no matter how grisly the event.

Yet the intentions didn’t take away from the repugnance of it all. They couldn’t. The sheer sight of Chan, smothered in blood and in apparent euphoria with the violence was an abomination you couldn’t hope to expel with rational thought alone. Or at least, not yet.

Chan stopped, his expression dropping with the way you recoiled from him. Your eyes locked for the briefest of moments, and it was evident in the breaking of that eye contact that neither of you could bear the sight of the other for longer than that, whatever your reasons.

He swallowed, turning away from you, much to the bewilderment of the others.

“I, uh… I have somewhere to be,” he choked, clearing his throat before he promptly shoved his way through them, out of the room.

“Chan? Where are you-”

“Leave him.” Felix interjected, shutting down Jisung’s attempts at appeal.

You wondered if Felix knew. It would be apt of him to, and no surprise.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, approaching the end of your bed, being careful not to crowd you in your condition.

“I… I-”

A subsequent cough ripped through your throat, your mouth running almost painfully dry now that you were awake.

“Here-” Hyunjin guided, handing you a glass of water from the bedside table.

You took it gratefully, trembling hands easing just a little as you took a single sip. It was a welcome refreshment, cool and gentle.

“How… How long was I out?” You rasped.

“About a day, give or take.”

“Give or take?”

Hyunjin shrugged, a complacent smile crossing his lips.

“We don’t really keep track of time, I guess. Sorry.”

You shook your head in response, taking another sip of the water. You supposed it didn’t matter whether it was days or weeks when your body demanded the rest. It was for your own good, you knew.

“Hey, uh… I’m glad you’re okay. For what it’s worth.”

Changbin’s well wishes were unexpected, to say the least, and you could feel the sincerity behind them despite the backhanded delivery. It was wildly uncharacteristic of him to even attempt something like that.

“Thank you…” You muttered, giving him as good a smile as you could manage, to which he simply waved off.

“Yeah, at least _you’re_ okay. Never mind the rest of us.” Seungmin quipped.

“Seungmin, not now. Seriously?” Jisung chided, shooting his brother a glare.

“Why not now? We’ve been waiting forever for her to wake up, she needs to know what she’s done-”

A gentle hand on his shoulder silenced him, and once again you found Changbin subverting your expectations as he acted as a silent voice of reason.

But your next question seemed to pose itself nicely from there.

“What does he mean? What… have I done?” You asked, looking around the room.

“You’ve done nothing,” Felix soothed, stroking your leg over the duvet, “you just focus on getting better, okay?”

“Don’t give me that.” You complained, not appreciating the patronising treatment. “Just tell me.”

“I’ll tell her.” Changbin cut in, navigating his way through Hyunjin and Jisung to get to you.

He crouched at your bedside, apprehension clear on his features. And that did nothing to ease the churning of your stomach.

“What happened at the club… It might get us in trouble-”

“It _will_ get us in trouble.”

He shot a silencing glare at Seungmin, who quickly retracted his claws as he let his brother explain.

“There are… consequences to the things we do. You might not believe it, Y/N, but there’s an order to things, even with vampires. Dion is one of the eldest of our kind. That age comes with power, and that’s something he has no short supply off. We’ve just royally pissed him off.”

You supposed that was about normal, given the situation that had arisen. It would have been stranger for that confrontation to end amicably.

“But is… everyone okay? You’re all okay, right?” You stammered, your hands growing clammy with latent anxiety.

“We’re fine.” Felix assured, giving you a smile. “Jeongin’s resting up, he needs to feed and replenish his strength. He took a hit, but it’s nothing he can’t handle.”

“A hit? B- But-”

“From one of Dion’s slaves. Seriously, Y/N, he’s okay. You know he’d be pissed if he heard you worrying.” Hyunjin interjected.

You knew Jeongin could defend himself. That they all could, more than perhaps you’d given them credit for initially. But that still didn’t shake the lingering guilt that had set in, the nagging feeling that this whole thing could have been avoided.

“This… This is all my fault. If I hadn’t gone into that room, if I hadn’t wandered off…”

“Well at least you know it’s your fault-”

“Seungmin! Enough. Why don’t you go check on Jeongin? Or water the fucking plants, or something.” Jisung chided, standing from his seat to guide his brother out.

“I’m sorry, Seungmin.” You muttered, not brave enough to even attempt arguing with him. Because you knew him to be right.

“We’re not dishing out blame,” Changbin sighed, “there’s a whole host of things we could have done differently. But Chan made the call, and so here we are.”

You blinked away the beginnings of tears, your heart wrenching as you looked at the boys before you. How despite everything, the majority of them didn’t seem to be chomping at the bit for your demise. In stark contrast, they appeared to actually _care_. For your wellbeing and your emotional state, which was something you never could have anticipated.

“So… what happens now?” You asked, swiping away the tears that had fallen free.

“We don’t know.” Jisung replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Guess we just wait for the other shoe to drop. But stuff like this usually ends with WAHVA’s involvement in some way. Vampire conflicts, in-fighting, civil wars and disagreements… they take a major interest. But that’s only if Dion doesn’t exact his revenge first.”

“R- Revenge?”

Felix shook his head, interrupting the discussion with a wave of his hand.

“It’s not even worth thinking about, Y/N. This is our concern now, not yours.” He muttered, his tone gentle.

“But it is my concern, I can help-”

“No. You can’t. Or not in your current state, at least. Maybe we can talk about this later, but for now, you’ll remain in your room, where it’s safe.”

You released a sigh of defeat, knowing better than to argue with him when he spoke to you that way. It didn’t dampen the desire you felt to help them in any way you could, but if you were to be realistic about it, you knew there was little to nothing you could do as you were.

“You’re probably starving, right?” Hyunjin smiled, cocking his head at you. “We’ll go fix you something.”

“Oh, let me help! There’s this new thing I want to try, I read about it the other day-”

“Reign it in, Ji. She can’t handle too much right now.”

“S- Sorry…”

“Don’t be,” you rasped, offering the pair your best smile, “thank you. Really.”

A tender pat of your leg followed from Felix as he stood from the bed, approaching you carefully as the others trooped out of the room.

“I… I want to apologise, Y/N.” He muttered, his tone lower than before.

You shook your head at him in disbelief, but any retort you could have given was silenced before you had the chance to speak it.

“Taking you away from here… It was a bad call. A major fuck up. I put you in a dangerous position, in a dangerous fucking place, and I… I’m very aware that things could have… that _you_ could have…”

His voice trailed off, his eyes seeming to glisten with the makings of tears. You wanted nothing more than to take those away, to ease him of whatever listless guilt he felt, for you truly didn’t feel he should have shouldered any blame.

“I’ll pay my dues to Chan, make my apologies. I owe him that. But I owe you much more.”

“Felix, please don’t, it wasn’t just-”

“That’s all I’ll say on it, Y/N. Just know that… one day I’ll make all of this up to you. I will.”

Another helpless tear fell as he placed a gentle peck to your forehead, smoothing down your hair affectionately.

“We’ll be right back. Get some rest, okay?”

And with that, he sauntered from the room, leaving you to your own sorrowful devices and at a loss for comforting words.

If you’d been confused as to how you felt about this clan and their ways before, you could say with certain clarity that you weren’t any longer.

You cared for them, in ways you couldn’t entirely explain. It wasn’t through a sense of obligation for the protection they offered, because in many ways your current situation, if it were to be traced back to its’ origins, was largely in thanks to them in the first place.

Had they not taken you captive, none of this would have ever happened.

And while you weren’t ignorant to that fact, any sense of resentment or hostility you might have once had, was no longer present. As if washed away by the gentle tide that was their smiles, or their laughs, their words of kindness and their quirky personalities, there were a myriad of things you recalled about them with only fondness in your heart.

It sparked your determination all the fiercer.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be right now. Perhaps it wouldn’t be next week, nor even in the months to come. But eventually, you knew, you would have your chance to redeem yourself in their eyes. To return the affection they’d shown you by doing them a service and taking responsibility, in protection and in limerence.

And the latter, was the next thing your sanity demanded you address.

* * *

##### A gentle knock on the wooden door before you took far more courage than you’d anticipated, and you hadn’t realised you were holding your breath until a voice from the other side recognised your presence.

You steeled your nerves, pushing down on the gilded handle as you opened it a crack, just enough for you to peek inside.

“Can I come in?”

Chan blinked twice, your interruption of his reading clearly striking him as a surprise. And you couldn’t blame him for that. You weren’t even sure if you could stomach the sight of him until you were subjected to it, which posed one of the reasons for your approach.

“Sure. Come in.”

You nodded thankfully, taking a careful step inside and closing the door quietly behind you.

His room was much the same as the first time you’d seen it, laden with empty bottles and discarded books, the whole atmosphere adopting a greyish tinge that seemed to set the mood of the place far more effectively than anything else. It had been the first proper place you’d awoken, all those weeks ago when your captivity occurred.

You didn’t miss how that initial latent fear you’d felt had been replaced with a tangible sense of hesitation, both on your part and his. And the reasons for that, you supposed, were numerous.

He threw the book to his side on your entrance, sitting up straight on his bed, back to the headboard.

“I think… we should talk?” You stammered, and while it came out as a question, there was no need for an answer.

“I think we should.”

You strolled towards him carefully, hands clasped at your front in as formal a manner as you could manage. Gaze locked to the floor, you hadn’t yet worked up the courage to meet his eyes head on, because you knew that doing so would be the telling moment for you.

You’d either run, or cry. There would be no two ways about it, and it would be entirely out of your control.

“I know,” you began, your voice barely a whisper, and even that seemed too loud for the deathly quiet of the room, “that I’ve made some mistakes. I… I wanted to apologise. For what we did. For what I did.”

“And what was it that you did?” He questioned, his tone matching yours in understated volume.

Another thing he already knew the answer to, but if clarification was what he needed, you’d indulge him. You owed him that.

“Leaving here… Going out with the others. I shouldn’t have done it. It was a bad idea, and all the others said so, it was entirely my fault-”

“Y/N,” Chan sighed, “I don’t know if you’re trying to defend my brothers by making out like it was all _your_ doing, but I know exactly how it went down, so please spare me.”

“You… do?”

“Mhm. I heard the Jag leaving, noticed the others’ rooms were empty. Didn’t take long to figure out where you’d gone… they wouldn’t take you somewhere they weren’t familiar with, somewhere they’re comfortable. And that club is their haunt.”

You swallowed nervously as he proceeded to hit the nail on the head, rendering your excuses meaningless. You’d only wanted to spare the others of the consequences, yet it seemed Chan was already two steps ahead of you. As always.

“I won’t pretend I’m happy with it. Won’t tell you it wasn’t a fucking idiotic move… but I also don’t blame any of you, Y/N. I know why you did it, why you were so eager to get out. It’d be just as idiotic of me to ignore that you were probably suffocating in these walls.”

You nodded quietly, your gaze now having drifted from the floor to his boots, inching higher with every word that left his mouth. You at least wanted to get your apology out of the way before you made any final judgement on him or his character, as you believed the eye contact would grant you.

“I just wish… I wish you had come to me about it. I would have helped.”

“I wish _you_ had told me that.” You muttered, resigning yourself to the final grovel.

“Would it have made a difference? Would you have come to me?”

In all honesty, the thought hadn’t even struck you to ask Chan for a measure of freedom, and you didn’t think you could be chided for that. In fact, you would have welcomed a realistic example of the captive party appealing to their captor for freedom in the first instance and standing even a remote chance of success. It seemed ludicrous to you.

But now that he’d spoken it, that he’d made his inclinations known, you felt the sincerity there. You felt that, perhaps, he would have indulged you for a night. It left you with the most bittersweet of sensations.

And so you hesitated, unsure of what response to give. Until you supposed the truth to be the best one.

“Probably not… I’m sorry, Chan. Really. I fucked up.”

Chan nodded knowingly, his lack of surprise seeming appropriate. A moment of silence fell heavy before he spoke again, his tone quiet.

“I watched you, you know. In the club.”

“You… were there?”

He hummed in quiet response, your eyes still fixed to his boots.

“I had to be. I don’t doubt my brothers abilities to protect you but I… just had to be there. Saw you drinking with my brothers. Laughing and smiling… Dancing, too. You looked like a different person. Happy.” He mused, and you could almost hear the listless expression that would have been struck to his face.

“I was. I know things went wrong in the end but… I guess I had fun.” You replied, wringing your fingers.

“Happy wasn’t the only thing you looked, Y/N.” He added, his tone seeming to drop.

“No?”

“That skirt? Can’t say I was prepared for it. You looked fucking knockout.”

It was a compliment, you knew, the repetition of Felix’s exact description of your appearance that night that could be considered yet another testament to his intuitiveness, his desperate familiarity with his brothers. Though the churning to your stomach only seemed to ease somewhat with it.

The gentle burn to your cheeks however, was entirely involuntary.

“Then I lost you. Turned my back for a single second, and Felix was alone. You were gone. Not at the table, the bar, amongst the crowds, nowhere to be fucking seen. I couldn’t even pick up on your scent with the fetid odour of that place. Do you have any idea how _badly_ I-”

“I’m sorry, Chan. I know-”

“ _Stop_ apologising, Y/N,” he interrupted, his voice appearing strained. “You… You don’t need to. I don’t want to hear it.”

Perhaps he didn’t want to hear it, yet whatever his reasons for that, they fell wildly short of making you feel like you didn’t need to give apology after apology. If for no other reason than you truly _were_ sorry.

“Why don’t you look at me, Y/N?” He asked, changing the subject and finally addressing your clear avoidance of eye contact in any form.

And once again, you were remiss to break this train of truth telling you’d embarked on.

“Because if I do,” you uttered, fingers curling into themselves, “I might run. And I… I don’t want to.”

“You’d be smart to.”

You shook your head, wishing he’d stop for long enough to allow you to gather yourself.

“You should go back to your room,” he continued, “there’s no more to say. What’s done is done.”

Perhaps that had been the taunt you’d needed. And perhaps Chan had known that. But either way, with those words from his mouth, you risked the plunge.

Raking your gaze over his form, you took in the scene before you.

His long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed over elegantly. His sheer white shirt sported a deep opening at the chest, his perfectly pale complexion almost translucent in its’ appearance, the muscles beneath firm and chiselled. His hair dishevelled and swept back on one side, he now appeared to display a clean cut scar above his left eyebrow, and that was no doubt courtesy of Dion.

His features were as sharp as they’d ever been, plump lips formless in their expression. Crimson eyes were settled in their hue, a stark contrast to the blood redness of the previous night. Long, lean fingers rested at his either side, pristine and gentle in appearance.

It was as if none of the horror had ever occurred. As if this angelic creature before you wasn’t even capable of committing the atrocities you’d been witness to, because quite simply, how could he be? It seemed inconceivable to you now.

In this light, in this moment, you found your explanation for the devastation his acts had wrought on you. Because he was a juxtaposition in every sense of the word.

Kind, yet crueller than the sharpest steel. Beautiful, yet hopelessly abhorrent. Strong, yet painfully vulnerable in the most unexpected of ways.

The feeling that washed over you, the latent ache that gripped your heart and sent tears pricking at your eyes, was enough to convince you that you could get past what he’d done. What you’d seen.

And more importantly than that, you didn’t run.

Your eyes locked, his head tilting gently with the connection.

Your breath hitched in a spike, his doing much the same as the tension in the air grew thick, almost suffocating in weight.

He outstretched his hand slowly, holding it to you in a gesture of beckoning.

You knew you had no hope of resistance. Not anymore. For you had your answers.

“Come to me, Y/N…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	14. Chapter 14

##### “Come to me, Y/N…”

His command was singular.

The only thing you could have heard even had the room been filled with something other than deathly silence. They rung in your head, echoing and waning, only fuelling your tunnel vision. The vision that remained centred on him, reclining on his bed with all the nonchalance possible.

You didn’t want to fight it. Saw no point in doing so, now that things had come to this.

Whether it was regret for the things you’d done, a sense of obligation to him and his brothers, or through the simplicity of selfish desire, you couldn’t be sure.

Whatever your reasons, your body enacted your intentions without will, your legs indulging his invitation step by careful step. He remained still all the while, expressionless and calm, his hand still out in beckoning.

You approached the end of the bed, one knee climbing atop it, your hand outstretched to take his.

The connection was immediate, the moment your palms slid together. The ice cold of his skin fired tingles up your arm, a subsequent shudder running down your spine as his fingers closed around you.

You simply watched him in rapture as he carefully pulled you in, acting as a guiding force that laid the two of you down to the bed proper, the soft goose feathered pillow engulfing your head.

Your heart rate had inevitably quickened, yet you no longer felt the stress that used to bring. The worry of him hearing it, of it sparking the dormant thirst in him for the blood that fed it.

“You didn’t run…” He muttered, his voice a rasp as he smoothed his thumb over your knuckles.

You nodded in agreement, not trusting your voice to remain stable should you give him a vocal response. For you knew he felt it anyway, if not more strongly than you did.

Long fingers traced absently down the side of your face, your eyes and his now level. Your lids fluttered with the sensation as he let them trail down your jawline, to your neck, your shoulder and upper arm. Goosebumps rose in the tickling wake, setting you giddy with anticipation, no matter how hard you tried to hide it.

“How much did you see? I know you did.” He asked, and you’d hoped that question wouldn’t come. The events of the club were better left forgotten.

You shrugged as much as you dared to, maintaining eye contact as best you could.

“I saw enough. I saw you… hurt Dion. But I know he deserved it.”

Chan’s subsequent nod and the swallow that graced his throat was enough to tell you that he wasn’t going to push the subject, and for that, you were grateful.

“There are things,” he whispered, his gaze dropping from yours for a moment, “that I want to say to you. Things I want to ask. But I… I’m not sure how to. So much of everything I know is just conjecture now.”

“Conjecture? Like what?” You asked, your tone gentle.

He shrugged in much the same way you had, the proximity between you, hushed voices and warm air almost intoxicating.

“Everything. Why WAHVA sent you here. Why they still haven’t come for you. What I’m supposed to do-”

“You don’t have to do anything.” You interrupted, your chest aching with the responsibility in his eyes.

“The more I think about it… the more I doubt WAHVA’s reasons for sending me here. The more I believe you were right. They didn’t send me to help you re-establish contact with them. But if that’s true? I don’t know what it means. For all of you, or for me.”

A small smile crossed his lips, his fingers tracing the prickled skin of your forearm.

“I guess we’re just two idiots that don’t know anything then, hm?”

“Guess so.” You replied, smiling gently.

Another moment of silence, and you fought to control the sparks of excitement that flooded you as he continued to ghost over your arm, the action seeming so much more than simply affectionate.

“I… There was something I wanted to ask you too,” you rasped, trying to fill the thickness of the air with something other than tension. “Back at the club, you said… you said that I was the one you’d been… waiting for?”

You had no need to expand on the confusion the statement had brought you, and admittedly, there was a part of you that hoped it hadn’t simply been for Dion’s benefit. A repellent or otherwise, for all the good it had done.

Chan swallowed, his gaze averting from yours once more.

It was uncharacteristic of him in every way, this almost hesitant persona that only drove more questions to the surface.

“Y/N, I…”

More faltering, and you wondered what could possibly be bringing him to such perturbation-

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

Your breath hitched, your eyes widening with the sudden proposition that seemed to answer your question in ways you hadn’t quite anticipated.

For his response was a laden one, filled with the promise of things you could only speculate to. It kick-started your heart in the most wonderful of ways, and you were sure he noticed.

Yet you wanted it. You wanted it terribly, even if it would only end in platonic company.

And so you nodded gently, your lip catching between your teeth in an effort to stop it from trembling. Chan smiled meagrely, his eyes darkening just a shade as his hand slid slowly from your forearm to the curve of your waist, holding you there.

“Is this… okay?” He checked, offering a gentle squeeze of your clothed flesh.

“Yes…” You breathed, hands curling to your chest.

Another tender squeeze of your waist before his hand started to lower slowly, dipping to the small of your back and around to its’ previous position, a meandering repetition.

Every touch, every gentle breath and hesitant inch he claimed lit a rampant desire in you, and as much as you wanted it, the nagging voice at the back of your mind preached a need for caution. For even though the fear had dissipated, the sense of self preservation had not, and you were keenly aware that you were losing that sense by the intimate second.

His hand graced lower still, the tips of his fingers connecting with bare skin where your shirt had ridden up just enough to expose it, and while you were sure it was accidental, the gasp that resounded from you at his freezing touch was entirely helpless.

Chan froze, his jaw locked with the small sound.

“S- Sorry…” You whispered, your aim to reassure him. “You’re just cold.”

He tensed ever so slightly, his fingers returning to the bare skin he’d happened upon.

As though caressing the most fragile of objects, he traversed your side, his whole hand gradually sliding under the material, inch by tentative inch. The contact made you shudder, the pleasure it gave you seeming almost impossible through such a simple thing. And you couldn’t hope to hide it with the burn to your cheeks.

“You’re warm.” He uttered, in contrast to his cold.

Your lips parted and lids slid closed, the heave of your chest deepened as you allowed yourself to get lost in him.

“So soft…”

The grip on your waist tightened, though only marginally, the previous caress descending into a more impassioned moulding of flesh with his need to feel you.

You allowed it to happen, hummed in content as his hand swept around to your bare back. Fingers splayed out over your skin, holding you in place, and you felt the weight of the bed shift as he appeared to move.

Your eyes cracked open, your head tilted up to meet his expectantly as you were guided to your back. He followed, now positioned above you, his arm tucked securely underneath you as though you would break if he let go.

“I know you’re probably… confused. But I meant what I said. All of it.” He assured, his eyes glossing from yours to your lips, over and over.

“You truly are irreplaceable to me.”

You shook your head gently, finding the will to uncurl your fingers and curve them over his broad shoulders, pressing yourself to him carefully.

“There’s nothing in this world that can’t be replaced, Chan. You know that.”

A look of upset crossed his stunning features, the proximity and sheer crackling tension between you having already built to a painful peak some minutes ago.

“Mhm, I do. But _you_ …”

You blinked slowly, watching him intently as he appeared to battle with putting his thoughts into words.

“There’s not another thing in this world that can replace you. Replace what you’ve given me.”

“What I’ve… given you?” You repeated, your words careful.

“A reason to turn the switch back on,” he whispered, “after everything that happened to us I vowed never to allow myself that kind of pain again. The loss and the constant fear. So I just… stopped. Turned off the emotions, flipped the switch. Stopped caring or feeling anything real. I ran on the instincts.”

He stopped for a moment, a deep breath seeming to steel his nerves.

“And my instincts panicked the moment I saw you, Y/N. They told me to protect you, to keep you close… to hold on to you with everything I have. It was like I’d been struck by fucking lightning. Too quick and utterly out of my control. So the switch flipped again and I… I’d forgotten how it felt to feel something other than… _nothing_.”

“Chan…”

“You were the instinct I never wanted. The one I was waiting for… even if I didn’t know it. And I won’t lose that now. I’ll do _anything_ to keep it.”

His words seemed incorporeal, the meanings they held too absurd in themselves to make any real sense to you, and yet, you knew them to be true. The way he looked at you, the way he needed you, you could feel it all, and more.

That this vampire, through some form of divine intervention or cosmic stroke of luck, cared for you. More than anything he ever had.

It was all you could do to fight back tears.

“Are you fearful?” He asked, crimson eyes searching your face for any sign of unwanting.

“No…” You whispered, the smallest of tears running free as you blinked it away, your hands lacing to the back of his neck. “And that scares me, Chan.”

A deep rush of emotion appeared to grip Chan as his face contorted with something you would have identified as pain in any other moment, yet before you had a chance to catch your breath or question it, the little you had remaining was stolen from your very lungs.

Ice cold softness engulfed you, his lips melding with yours in a perfect synchrony of desire. Your head spun, your throat drying out almost immediately with the latent passion it held, Chan’s hand on your bare back pulling you flusher to him.

Soft sounds of moisture permeated the air, low hums of appreciation for the other as you explored, Chan being ever attentive and careful, yet no less ardent in his need to taste you. Flashes of white blonde and pale skin graced your vision as you cracked open your eyes, only to flutter them closed again when he deepened the kiss with his growing lust.

You’d imagined this so many times before, and had felt guilty for doing so at the time. Perhaps that was your inappropriate attraction to Minho making itself known, though right now, you couldn’t have been more singularly focused. Your fantasies fell wildly short of the real thing, now that it was happening.

Chan broke the kiss for the briefest of seconds, allowing you a moment to sup back the air he’d robbed you of. His chest heaved, his eyes a darker shade of crimson, his unattainable beauty rendering you dizzy as he looked at you.

“I won’t be able to stop,” he hushed, placing another brief kiss to your lips, “not now.”

You knew he wouldn’t. You weren’t sure you would either.

“I’d never ask you to…” you assured, committed to the dive with him. “We both know it’s too late.”

He shook his head in exasperation, and a gasp of similar nature escaped him.

Though his intentions appeared to be set in stone.

He released you momentarily as he sat back to his knees, long fingers taking hold of the buttons of his shirt. You watched, enraptured, as he began to pop them open, one by one, the material falling open at the chest, then waist. It slunk from his shoulders, pooling to the bed beneath you, leaving him in naught but his leather trousers.

Your thighs pressed together unconsciously at the sight of him, the urge you’d had to touch him now seeming wildly possible. You’d never supposed that a simple, ordinary male body could evoke such a physical effect from you, though this person was anything but ordinary.

Without even thinking, you pushed yourself from the bed, looking up at him uncertainly as you outstretched your hand to his abdomen. He cocked his head in wonder, watching as you began to explore him.

You started at his collarbone, fingertips tracing the prominent outcropping, the shape of the thing. The cold that he emanated seemed almost irrelevant to you now, and you knew that could be attributed to the latent fire inside you.

You moved to his pectorals, two fingers tracing the muscle over the surface, then underneath, a subsequent tremor running through him with your feather light pressure. Down his sides, you used two hands to glide down his firm flesh, the creases and ridges of his abs contracting with every deepening breath he took, no doubt a direct result of your actions.

Everything about him seemed so perfect, this was almost your way of confirming that he was, in fact, real. A living thing, inasmuch as the meaning of the word could be applied to him. You leaned in, caught up in a trance of your own, and placed a gentle kiss to the top line of his abs. Chan hissed through his teeth, long fingers entwining into your hair, and in all honestly, you’d almost forgotten he was watching.

“S- Sorry-” You muttered, the urge to apologise surely killing the moment.

“Don’t stop,” he rasped, catching his lip between his teeth. “it’s… I like it.”

A surge of confidence rushed through at his appeal, your heart skipping with the gentle tug he gave at your roots.

And so you continued your ministrations, one careful press of your lips after another to each of his abs, shudders and barely audible hums stifling from him with each one.

You took hold of his belt, fingers resting atop the buckle as you approached the lower line of his body, and you weren’t sure what possessed you when, in the ridge of his v-line, right along the definition, you gave a gentle suck, followed by a small lap of your tongue.

Yet Chan appeared to lose all reason.

Your motions were cut short as he pushed you back to the bed, his form following you like liquid. He slotted between your legs, your lips once again caught up in his, your quiet giggle of surprise cut silent with a low growl of his own. Though this time, the hesitation was but a distant memory.

His tongue slicked over your bottom lip, a tentative act of seeking permission that you responded to by parting them for him. His tongue and yours connected, gliding together in a pure display of lust, and indeed, the slick sensation from your mouths only worsened that which you felt from below. Chan’s body was as flush to yours as it could have been, your hands clawing at his shoulders for traction in any way you could get it.

Until he broke the kiss, leaving you dazed as he nosed your chin aside to expose your neck.

Careful, wet kisses graced your sensitive skin, your breaths coming shorter, chest rising against his all the while, your skin electrified by the touch he left behind. A tender lap of his tongue gave him a meagre taste of you before he buried his nose to the flesh, and you were sure this was the closest thing to ascension you might have hoped to experience.

He indulged in a deep, drawn out inhalation of the scent you knew drove him to the brink of his self control, and for a moment, you wondered if he’d be able to hold it. Indeed, this was the first time he’d been able to so brazenly, with the absence of your pendant granting him the opportunity he’d surely craved for too long.

You suddenly found yourself grateful for its’ misplacement.

A desperate whine resounded from his throat, reflective of his needs as his hands took hold of the hem of your shirt. You sat up briefly to allow him to whip it from your head, though you were pushed back just as quickly as he dove into the space between your cleavage. Rabid and blind to all else, he cupped your breasts together, laving his tongue through the centre chasm and peppering the surface with kisses. It was almost overwhelming, how fast he moved, though you knew you were safe in his hands.

One deft movement after another popped the buttons on your jeans, the item being pulled abruptly from your legs with a little lift of your hips. They were tossed aside, much like the shirt, and Chan’s crimson eyes were now searing with a blood red intensity that rendered you near high.

He disappeared from your view, hands curving under the shape of your hips, fingers dipping into the band of your sodden panties. They were removed from you just as efficiently, Chan’s vision now centred entirely on your sex.

A subsequent lick of his lips and a whine of need from you solidified his wicked intentions, and before you could react much more, he slid down the bed to his front. It was effortless, how he hooked your knees over his shoulders, how he began to suck gently on the supple flesh of your inner thighs, lingering in singular spots.

You supposed his urge to make you his, while he hadn’t said it outright, was going to manifest in some way or another, and in lieu of all else, this appeared to be how. For you knew he was marking you, you didn’t need to look for confirmation.

Two deep purple blotches on your inner left thigh, one on the right, and Chan soothed them with gentle flicks of his tongue, ginger blows of his cool breath. You were amazed he’d managed to create them successfully with the way your legs were trembling with need, yet they were simply a prelude of the things to come.

“You’re _mine_ now, sweetheart…”

And with those words, a subsequent drag of his tongue through your folds sent your back arching from the bed, a deep moan of desperation ripping from your throat. One stunning motion after another, he lapped at you fiercely, only stopping his ministrations on your throbbing clit to give your labia attention in the form of the tip of his tongue, or the swelling of his lips.

White hot pleasure claimed you almost instantly, and you had no way of knowing if his technique could be drawn up to the years of experience he no doubt had, or his simple enthusiasm. But either way, you’d never felt anything quite like it.

He knew so well. Knew exactly when to kiss and smother your clit gently, when to edge it with his firm, wet tongue. He knew when to stop to allow your breath to stabilise, and when to push you so close to your brutal peak that you felt like you’d explode.

Large hands held your quivering thighs, gliding over the skin affectionately as he reduced you to a broken state of yourself. The cold of his breath only served to make you more sensitive, more receptive to every small thing he did, and he played off that to no end.

“Ch- Chan… _fuck_ , mhm-”

If he’d heard you, he gave no vocal indication. Simply a flick of his searing, wicked eyes up at you, to which you could only keen in response.

His lips closed around your sex, tighter than before as he sucked intermittently with newfound vigour. He took to nuzzling his head, still clamped around you as he shook it, stimulating you at every possible angle and position, and the howl that escaped you was a sound you weren’t aware you could even make. The knot in your core tightened desperately, your release trickling between your cheeks, every nerve in your body screaming for relief.

And of course, Chan adjusted.

So with his relentless assault and every piece of strength in your body shattered, he broke you through your orgasm. You cried and moaned, shook violently and collapsed again, stealing every bit of oxygen that remained in the room as you tried to see it through. Chan rode you with it, licking deliciously at your spent clit when you needed it, blowing cool air on your soaked sex for a modicum of relief from the burning that gripped you.

It was the single most intense thing you’d ever been subject to. Nothing you could ever have been prepared for, and as exhausted as you were, you knew it to be far from over.

The look in his eyes told you that. The smirk that graced his slick lips as he swiped his forearm over his glistening chin.

“Always preferred doing that the old fashioned way.” He quipped, clearing his throat before he positioned himself back between your legs.

You threw your arms around his neck, glassy eyes doing their best to stay present as he captured your lips in a furious kiss once more.

“I doubt even your blood could taste as sweet as that.” He praised between presses of his lips, his fire clearly far from being dampened.

“Why… don’t you find out?”

You hadn’t thought.

Hadn’t considered the consequences of your question until after it had been spoken, and that was only reinforced with the way Chan was looking at you in unadulterated horror.

“Why would you say that?” He whispered, frozen in place.

You didn’t know why.

Call it morbid curiosity, or a blinding moment of madness. Call it the crushing sexual appetite that claimed you, or the simple safety he instilled through mere presence alone. It could even have been the inherent threat he posed, the beast you knew lurked beneath the surface of his angelic demeanour, just begging to be poked at.

Hyunjin had observed it about you before, and quite rightly. That you were attracted to the danger, and in this moment more than ever before, that was making itself painfully apparent. To feel the piercing of teeth to flesh, to be held in his arms as he consumed the very thing that made you, that kept you alive. To know the euphoria that would come with that kind of helplessness, the adrenaline and sheer erotica of being claimed in such a way. The prospect sang to you.

“I…”

Yet you couldn’t find the words. Couldn’t explain any of that to him, because to do so would surely depict you a vehement sinner.

“You shouldn’t make that invitation lightly…” He muttered, visible shakes having set in to his broad shoulders. “You don’t know what it means. For either of us.”

“B- But I… I would let you. If you wanted it-”

“If I wanted it?!” He exclaimed, pain stricken to his features. “Y/N, every second I’m here with you, holding you like this… The urges are screaming at me. Your blood, your scent… It’s _fucking_ ambrosia, and it’s only getting stronger-”

“Do you want me?” You asked, holding his gaze.

A second of silence before his answer, and you supposed he was weighing up the pros and cons of lying to you. You’d have seen straight through it anyway.

“Immensely…”

“So take me. Drink from me. I _want_ it.”

“Y/N, _fuck_ … You’re going to be the death of me.”

“No,” you urged, holding his face in your hands, “I won’t. And you won’t be mine. That’s the whole point.”

You knew this was insanity in its’ rawest form. Objectively idiotic, from any point of view or in any form of reasoning.

Yet as Chan resigned himself to your request, gathered you in his arms and lifted you from the bed with a kiss so passionate it could have killed you there and then, you knew rational thought to be a curse in this moment. Your wants and desires were satanic in nature, and you considered yourself to be no better than the demons themselves.

Perhaps the worst part about it all, was that you no longer cared.

“Hold-” Chan instructed, guiding your hands to grip the bedpost behind you.

You did so, lifting your arms above you and taking hold of the polished wooden post with both hands, your legs secured around his waist with his support. The fumbling of a belt buckle was followed by his leather trousers slinking to the ground, his naked form now reflected in the darkened, moonlit windows of his room. Yet you had no time to admire the thing.

His lips connected with the skin above your breast, one gentle, soothing sweep of his tongue after another. You groaned quietly as you felt the careful drag of the fangs he’d kept concealed until now, tentative across your skin. It was almost an act of preparation, though you felt you’d never been readier for anything in all your years of life.

“I’ll make this… as painless as I can.” He staggered, his eyes so bright and clear it was nothing but mesmerising. “You hold on to that. The second you let go, I stop. Do you understand?”

You nodded frantically, the proximity of his rigid length beneath you and the teeth at your chest proving to be all too overwhelming. You supposed your ability to hold on to the bed post was directly indicative of your strength, and even if you were inclined to urge Chan on with his supping, your body’s capabilities wouldn’t betray you. Wouldn’t betray Chan, more importantly.

“Answer me, sweetheart-”

“I- I understand. I get it… _Please_ …” You whimpered, your arms already taking to an ache with the position.

He smiled in satisfaction, though the hesitation was still there. His pristine fangs caught on his bottom lip as he held you in place, hovering gently.

“There’s no coming back from this, Y/N. There can’t be.”

A moment of thick silence blessed the room, interrupted only by your weighted breaths and his staggered ones. Excitement, anticipation and nefarious intent claimed you both, and while you knew he was granting you the chance to change your mind, you were rampant with contemptible desire.

A quiet whine escaped you as he lowered you gently, the broad head of his cock slicking against your post-orgasmic, tender sex.

“Hush, sweetheart. I know.”

And with that small reassurance, every muscle in his body tensed as he began to enter you.

You held as still as you could, eyes rolling back with the salacious stretch he offered. Careful and slow at first, he allowed you a moment to adjust to his prominent size, to his girth and the way he filled you so completely.

Wrapping him in molten warmth and velvet, the deep, throaty groan that escaped Chan was intoxicating, better than the finest of musical scores. You couldn’t feel anything else, couldn’t register the way your fingers clamped to the post or the way you whimpered pathetically as he satisfied your innate desire.

Yet that was only until the pierce.

Soft, wet kisses to your chest were interrupted with a sharp, stinging pain, the breaking of perfect flesh beneath his razor fangs ripping through you in an inexplicable shock.

You froze, crying out into the air as he sunk you down lower on his length, closing in on you with every part of him. Pain from above, delirious pleasure from beneath, you supposed the tremors that took over were your body’s way of overcompensating for the rush of emotion.

Chan couldn’t relent, an elevated groan of rapture pulsing against your skin as the blood began to flow. Warm and thick from the pinprick wounds, your very life essence painting his lips and escaping in minute drops down your heaving form as he drank you in like a creature possessed.

And as much as the term of creature could be applied to him, even moreso given the scene, you noted his tenderness. How, despite granting your request for defilement, he still appeared to be battling with an unseen barrier of control.

With no further warning, he began to move, gentle motions of his hips gliding his rigid length across every part of your sensitivity. He remained clamped to your chest, the veins in his neck protruding with his exertion, his biceps tensed and firm, all while you were gripped in ardour.

Sex with a vampire wasn’t something you’d ever done, yet now you weren’t sure how you were ever going to come back from it. Chan had been right when he’d pointed that out.

It appeared that something entirely otherworldly was at play with the way he moved, supporting you effortlessly in his arms as he fucked you like it was an art form. The instant intermittent waves of pleasure that swept you were undeniable, and you all but fell apart as he picked up his pace, fuelled by the ambrosia that was your blood.

It was nothing you could put into words, an amalgamation of all temperatures and sensations. Searing, prickling heat and tendrils of unnatural cold crept through your nerves, the very core of your being tightening with his advances.

He broke his leeching to your chest, taking a moment to breathe deeply as he locked your gazes. His plump, perfect lips were defiled, your body decorated a grisly tribute to him as droplets of blood ran freely, and it only seemed to spur him on, sending you deeper into a sense of tantric euphoria. His eyes blazed, hooded yet clear as freshly lit fire, and you clawed to the post behind you with every piece of feeble strength you had.

“Still with me?”

You could only moan in agreement, your body no longer your own. Something akin to an orgasm had begun to build the moment he’d impaled you, only exacerbated when he’d bitten you, and now it was so intense that the slightest word from him would send you over the edge.

“You’re doing so well sweetheart… _fuck_ -”

The pace increased once more, feral and unforgiving as he drove up into you. His shaft so thick inside you, so heavy and delicious, he held you up, his grunts and exclamations of desire threatened to end you once more.

The peaks of pleasure began to meet in your core, the uncontrollable quakes of such a thing claiming you with broken and fragmented gasps. Chan knew.

“That’s it, baby… Let it all go for me, let everything go…”

You half-laughed in exasperation of your utter lack of power, your face contorting with the ache in your arms and the clammy stick of the post to your back. You could have held out, could have withstood it for a little longer if not the ferocity of Chan’s movements, and so you dropped your arms from their position.

Chan responded instantly, catching you in his arms and laying you to the bed. He remained stood, pulling your hips to the edge of it as he continued to fuck you up the mattress, his body tensed and rigid. You arched your back in bliss, your face dampened with sweat, knuckles curled to the cold sheets beneath you.

Wanton pleasure and atrocious lust made you its’ slave, your rasped cries for release filling the room. You became lightheaded, and perhaps that could have been attributed to the minor loss of blood you’d suffered, but the feeling was akin to being plunged underwater as Chan rode you through your second blistering orgasm, groaning through his teeth with the way you tightened around him.

“Mhm, _fuck_ … Don’t give out on me yet, sweetheart.” He purred as he leaned over you, pressing his bloodied lips to yours in a chaste kiss.

“M- More-” You muttered, clinging to his shoulders desperately.

He spared you a questioning glance, unsure as to more of _what_ you needed. Until you swept your fingertips across your wounded chest, bringing them up to his stained lips.

He groaned without abandon, sucking them in before you could pull them away, his tongue coating your digits in a mixture of diluted blood and saliva. You could feel the effect it had on him, moreso with the way he remained inside you, his length stiffening in response to the saccharine taste of your essence.

“Can you take it?” He hissed, stopping his motions briefly.

You nodded frantically, scrambling back up the bed to allow him to join you, beckoning for him to follow.

“I can take it, _please_ -”

Your sex throbbed, your cheeks and inner thighs soaking with the remnants of your release as he crawled towards you on all fours. He slotted himself back between your legs, head buried in the crook of your pristine neck.

He lapped and sucked gently at the unmarked surface, repeating much the same ritual of preparation as you dug your nails to his muscled back, your breath held for the pierce you knew was coming. The pierce you now craved.

And in one consecutive motion, he eased himself back inside you, sinking his fangs to your flesh.

You yelped in desire and distress as you released the breath from your lungs, neither one able to cancel out the either. Chan positively drowned in your presence, his pace immediately animalistic in the way he fucked you, the way he suckled at the wound he’d created on your neck.

You heard it this time, his guzzling swallows and whines of appreciation, your moans meeting his in their lament. Slaps of skin filled the room, your feet hooking around his rear, tugging him in impossibly deeper, to which he caught on quickly enough.

He broke his drinking after mere moments, lashings of your blood escaping the corners of his mouth, his stained tongue swiping them up before he supported his weight on his hands.

You were rendered lightheaded, moreso than before, every part of you burning with salacious sin as he ruined you. You felt the lingering warmth of the wound on your skin, the pleasant sting and a shiver of cold as he worked your needy, pulsating sex, his eyes screwing shut with his own building release.

“ _Mhm_ … Baby, I-”

“Don’t stop-” you pleaded, clawing at his clammy chest, “don’t ever stop.”

He groaned listlessly into the air, his perfectly pale complexion glossed with a layer of sweat, the freckles of your blood that had fallen from his lips decorating his body beautifully.

Because as sordid as it was, as wicked and demonic as you supposed this whole thing could be, it was undoubtedly beautiful. Morbidly so, you imagined there couldn’t be a higher plane of pleasure than this moment right here, with him.

His moans of wanting worsened, his form tensing and quaking as he approached his own peak. High on your blood, fuelled by your essence and drunk on the taste of you in all manners of the word, his fluid thrusts reduced to sharp, rutting slaps. Your breasts bounced intermittently with his ministrations, his eyes a blazing red as he began to let go inside you.

“Aah, f- fuck… _Fuck_ , fuck-”

He uttered a string of incoherent curses, the additional stiffness to his length causing you to mewl with the onset of his orgasm. He took hold of your marked left thigh, holding it aside, sitting back on his knees as he watched himself release inside you, one firm pump after another filling you to the brim.

You felt it so purely, so hot and thick, you could do nothing but relish in the sensation as he came down from the brutality of what he’d just been through. Of what you’d just been through.

Though by all accounts, as he returned to you and peppered you with warm, irony kisses, he appeared far from spent. Vampire stamina doesn’t allow for a refractory period.

“Take your breather, sweetheart.” He hummed, smiling against your clammy skin.

“You’ll need it. Because I’m nowhere near done with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	15. Chapter 15

##### The room was quiet.

A vignetting darkness had set in, interrupted only by the pale moonlight that shone through the bay windows, bathing everything in hues of silver and blue. As if you were caught in a moment of stillness, a moment of profound content and beauty, you were grateful for the silence.

Perhaps it should have been unsettling, that even with your head resting atop Chan’s cool, chiselled chest, there was no sound to speak of. Not the comforting drum of a heartbeat nor the sounds of internal settling, the only things that broke the quiet were your slow intakes of breath and the ruffling of the sheets when he moved.

Yet you found it to be no such thing.

The very real fact that this man beside you, this man who had just indulged the most sinful of your fantasies, was a creature of entirely otherworldly origins didn’t frighten you.

It brought you a sense of peace. Or more specifically, _he_ did. Of sheer content and comfort, and after driving you to the very peaks of your pleasure threshold with acts that would surely make the powers that be shy away from their onlooking, he hadn’t left you.

He remained close to your side, his first priority having been to tend to the wounds he’d graced you with.

They were minor in capacity, you knew, and you would have been satisfied to deal with them in the morning through your own hand. The calling of sleep had been the priority at the time, until Chan had abruptly put an end to those intentions.

He’d whisked you into bed, the duvet tucked in at all sides around you, the pillows beneath your head fluffed and comfortable. From seemingly nowhere, he’d retrieved a small medical box equipped with the usual items, bandages, ointments, pill bottles, gloves and plasters, in addition to a set of thread and needles, presumably for stitching purposes.

With all the delicacy in the world, he’d cleaned and soothed the pinpricks on your chest and neck, dressing them with a bandage an inch too large, just to be safe. Words of gentle reassurance and praise were spoken all the while, before he fished two of the many pill bottles from the small red box.

“Take these.” He’d instructed, leaving no room for argument or discussion as he placed two small, brown pills into your mouth, gracing you with a kiss in urge to swallow them.

Iron and vitamin B, you’d found out not long after, to replenish the blood you’d lost and the strength you’d spent.

Water had found its’ way to your bedside, your refusal to finish a pint of it not sitting well with Chan in any form until you’d reasoned with him that you didn’t want to be getting up all night for the reasons a pint of water would no doubt induce.

And so, eventually satisfied that you were, for the most part, back together inasmuch as he could assist with, he’d climbed into bed with you. Swept you in his arms and held you to his chest, the warmth of the duvet encasing you both in a cocoon of safety that you were sure not a thing in the world could penetrate.

No words needed to be spoken. You simply allowed yourself the respite with him, the indulgence of recovery seeming a vital necessity as the seconds passed. Your toes were rendered numb, your lids drooping with heaviness and mind running blank.

The consequences of what you’d just done, of what he had just done, could wait until tomorrow.

And you had no doubt there would be consequences.

Because no matter how caught up you were in Chan, how deeply he’d crawled under your skin and claimed a solid place in your heart, somewhere in the middle of your rendezvous, your mind had wandered to thoughts of another. Perhaps before it had even started.

To visions of fiery red hair and feline eyes.

* * *

##### “Y/N…?”

The muffled voice that called out roused you from your sleep, your eyes cracking open begrudgingly.

“Y/N, sweetheart… Wake up.”

A second call, and as your vision began to focus and your body reclaimed its’ functions, the immediate sensation that washed over you was a dull, solid ache. In your joints and back, your neck and fingers. Not at all pleasant.

You groaned quietly, burying your head to the pillow beneath you. A gentle hand caressed your bare shoulder, followed by a careful kiss, and it was at that that you found the willpower to roll over and face your morning caller.

“Morning,” Chan smiled, his soft blonde tresses swept back over one side of his face, “how are you feeling?”

Another groan indicated your answer, and Chan couldn’t stifle the small laugh. You were glad he at least found it amusing.

“Listen, you can stay in bed. It’s almost dawn, and the others want to feed before the sun comes up. So I have to go. I just didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

You attempted opening your eyes again, blinking several times before you summoned the strength to speak.

“Can’t they just go?” You rasped, tugging your arm from the safety of the duvet to paw at him. “They’re big boys.”

“I know,” he chuckled, taking your flailing hand in his, “but they’re also messy. I need to be there with them. Can’t leave a trail.”

“It’s a big old forest though… No one will find you.”

He shook his head, the dimples in his cheeks making an appearance with the smile you’d never seen from him before. You hadn’t even realised they were there. It was a wildly pleasant sight.

“It is a big old forest,” he agreed, “and not big enough, apparently. I can’t let them go alone, it’s just how things are.”

He leaned in carefully, gentle fingertips taking hold of your chin. You tilted your head up expectantly with his support, a sudden rush of anticipation claiming you, the aches in your joints seeming all too insignificant when he got as close as this.

“I won’t be long.”

A soft press of his lips to yours sent your head running blank, your hands curving over his shoulders instinctively. Perhaps it was also instinct with the way you tried to pull him in, his absence seeming too painful a thing for you to deal with in this moment.

You felt the smile break out against your lips, a gentle hum of appreciation resounding against you.

“Eager, sweetheart.”

“I… I can’t help it. It’s _your_ fault.” You muttered, the flush to your cheeks also an involuntary reaction to him.

“Mhm, well… why don’t you rest up some more? I reckon you’ll need that strength when I get back.”

You were sure he noticed the way your thighs clamped together with that laden little promise, despite you still being very much concealed under the sheets.

A sly smile and another quick kiss before he pulled away from you, rearranging the duvet around your form and turning on his heel. You watched as he whisked out of the door with a wave, and the moment it closed behind him, you let out the breath that you’d been holding until now.

There was no chance you were getting any further sleep.

* * *

##### With Chan’s absence, came the inevitable boredom.

It wasn’t something you were unaccustomed to since your time in captivity, and it certainly wasn’t that you couldn’t sate it in some way or another. Either through exploration of the estate, reading or creating small scenes from matchsticks and other oddities you’d happened upon, you’d managed to keep yourself occupied so far.

And now, perhaps through general exhaustion, you found yourself starkly lacking inspiration.

Wrapped in the black silk sheet that had adorned Chan’s bed, you wandered his room mindlessly, scanning over the gadgets and items he stored on his shelves.

Some of them looked antique in their age and design, and that came as no surprise. You could only imagine as to the places he’d obtained them during his long, long years of life, and the stories they held. They were surely epic ones. You made a mental note to ask him one day.

Long dead clocks and pocket watches, worn miniature statues, loose buckles, vases and ornaments both whole and broken, books with spines so worn you could no longer make out the titles, it was a veritable collection of things that, on the surface, appeared to be no more than junk. Though you doubted that Chan considered them such.

You ran your finger over the dusty surface of his shelves, approaching the end of it and looking out to the window.

The view of the surrounding forest from here was crystal clear, the encroaching light of the rising sun casting the sky with hues of orange and amber. The trees and foliage were as dense as could be, and you wondered where, in that mess of overgrowth and in the darkness beneath the canopies, Chan and the others would be right now.

Although Chan had said he’d adopt a supervisory role for this hunt, the thought struck you that, actually, after the events of last night, he shouldn’t harbour a need to feed in the slightest. Human blood was the best form of nutrition for a vampire after all, and Chan himself had told you how wildly short animal blood fell in comparison.

You made a second note to grill him about that on his return, burying your unwarranted jealousy towards some poor animal as your hand absently fell to the bandage on your chest.

A gentle sting shot through you as you connected with the fabric, the pain enough to make you wince, yet not cry. You approached the small vanity mirror atop his dressing table, taking the chance to examine the damage. A small part of you hoped you’d be able to get away with taking the bandage off before too long, if only to avoid questions on the obvious.

You dropped the sheet around you just enough to expose it, carefully taking hold of the seams and the tape that secured it. You hissed quietly through your teeth as you pulled the fabric back, being careful not to rip anything, until you could clearly see the wound.

Two small pinpricks decorated your skin, the surrounding area having coloured a gentle pink. It looked clean, you could say that much for certain, and indeed the only reminder it was even there at all came from the times you touched it enough to feel it. No outward pain, no real threat of infection or anything sinister, and you found yourself grateful for Chan all over again.

Though perhaps more bewildering than that, as you looked upon the small indication that Chan had tasted you the night before, was the undeserved sense of pride that washed over you.

It was entirely inexplicable, you couldn’t begin to fathom the reasons for such a clearly ridiculous feeling, but it was there nonetheless. A confusing concoction of pride and smug victory, as if the two of you were now privy to a secret connection, and a secret in itself.

The smile that graced your lips caught you by surprise, your expression morphing to one of blatant disapproval with yourself when you spied your reflection in the mirror.

“Grow up, Y/N. It’s just a damn bite.”

And with that, you smoothed the bandage back over your skin, tracing the tape at either side to stick it down.

When something in your legs appeared to give way, with no explanation, rhyme or reason.

Perhaps you’d tried to walk too soon. Perhaps you should have taken Chan seriously on his suggestion for more rest, because your body was clearly not able to keep up with the things you had in mind, even something as simple as a meander around a room. You’d overestimated yourself, and only to more injury. Last night appeared to have taken more than its’ toll on you.

Your knees buckled at once, your hands flailing to catch the nearest thing you could grab at that would either a) cushion your fall, or b) interrupt said fall altogether.

However, it was to no avail as the only thing you managed to take hold of was the handle of the dressing table drawer in front of you, and all that served to do was slide it open as you fell with a prompt thud to the floor with as little grace as possible.

“Fucking _damn_ it…” You whined, grimacing once more as you stilled for a moment.

Summoning every piece of strength you could manage, which admittedly wasn’t much, you pushed yourself up from the floor, using the open drawer in front of you as leverage.

Grunts and heaves of exertion emitted from you with your effort, and you were about to trudge back to bed, had it not been for the thing that caught your eye.

In the foot of the open drawer, as innocent and simple as anything could be. Indeed, it was the only thing in it.

A thin, golden necklace, wound in on itself with the pristine pendant tucked securely in the middle.

 _Your_ elusive pendant.

* * *

##### Chan made his way to the edges of the forest, slipping through the main entrance of the grandiose mansion with a decided skip in step.

A quick glance up to the dusky orange hued sky told him they still had several hours left before dawn proper, more than enough time to get something decent for the others. He wouldn’t need anything for himself, of course, for reasons that brought a smile to his lips and a churn to his stomach that he hadn’t felt in… ever.

Going on a hunt with a more-than-sated appetite was certainly something he could get used to.

The others stood before him, Jisung, Hyunjin and Changbin, hands on hips or feet kicking up the debris as they waited impatiently.

“Good evening, all.”

“ _Good_?” Jisung quipped, his eyebrow raised in noted questioning of his leaders’ chipper demeanour. “Is it a _good_ evening, Chan?”

“Is it even still evening?” Changbin added, a clear scowl laced to his features. “We’re fucking starving.”

“Of course,” Chan grinned, rolling his shoulders in preparation for the hunt. “It’s good. Great even. Perhaps the best we’ve ever had, don’t you think?”

“Ugh, god. Is this what a happy Chan looks like?” Hyunjin groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Isn’t the sky beautiful tonight? Did it always look like that?”

“Oh, good. He’s a fucking poet now,” the blonde scoffed.

“If you’re done being philosophical or whatever, maybe you could collect your balls and we could get on with this?” Changbin gestured towards the forest.

“His balls aren’t his anymore, brother,” Hyunjin interjected. “We all heard them.”

Changbin shuddered, an exaggerated gesture that reminded Chan of his antics the night before. And that only spread the smile wider.

“Are you implying that I, and by extension my balls, belong to her?”

“Don’t they?” Changbin questioned, shrugging. “Sure sounded like she got it good and hard.”

“Mhm. She really did.”

“Okay!” Jisung half-yelled, waving his hand like a white flag. “I’ll die of embarrassment if the hunger doesn’t get me first, can we go now?!”

“But don’t you want to hear-”

“No!” The younger vampire shouted, cutting off Chan before he could finish as he shook his head violently. “It’s like listening to your parents talk about… well, you know-”

“Steamy, aggressive sex?” Changbin added, rolling his hips for dramatic effect and earning a distinct giggle from Hyunjin.

“We were ready half a damn hour ago,” Jisung whined, though his eyes didn’t betray the innate satisfaction that came from seeing his brother so enlightened. “You realise I won’t have time to hunt the big ones now, right?”

Chan couldn’t help the scoff of laughter, nor the bright little cloud that seemed to be floating above his head, shining light on all who stood under it. It was courtesy of her, he knew.

And for that, he was utterly unapologetic.

“As if you could handle anything more than a bunny anyway,” a voice crooned, all eyes turning in its’ direction.

Chan’s heart would have stopped, were it not bereft of a beat already.

For Minho stalked over the threshold of the tree line, slinking out of the darkness that shrouded him. Faint traces of blood lingered at his lips, stained his tongue, his hair mussed and indicative of a fight of some description.

“M- Minho?”

The timing was near comical, if nothing else.

All three of the others froze, their eyes darting from Minho to Chan and back again. Even being outside as they were, clear tension set into the air, a sense of foreboding that was enough to make the stomach of the strongest vampire churn.

“How about you guys go ahead?” Minho smiled absently, referring to the youngers. “Chan doesn’t need to eat anyway. Do you brother?”

Chan swallowed, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention.

“Go. I’ll catch up,” he assured, giving them a nod of consent.

“Please don’t fight…” Jisung whispered, the last words he spoke as Hyunjin took his hand, the three of them darting off into the blackness of the foliage, Changbin leading the way.

Leaving the two elder brothers, alone.

“You went out by yourself?” Chan asked, knowing he was stating the obvious.

“Mhm,” Minho replied, cracking his neck. “I’d have asked your permission but you were… otherwise engaged.”

Chan knew things were going to come to this. Not quite so quickly, perhaps. But sooner or later, the claim they’d both staked on her was going to come to a brutal peak.

He knew Minho’s anger. The types of it, the reasons for it most of the time. The way he carried it and released it. A whirlwind of rage often followed in his wake, and that was what Chan had been prepared for.

Yet this, was nothing he’d seen before.

A sense of unsettled ire, like the crackling of incoming lightning that raises the ground around it and sets all those in near vicinity to anxious, teetering anticipation.

“Say what you came to say. The others need-”

Chan’s sentence was cut short, a rush of wind propelling towards him so momentously forced it shocked the words back down his throat.

He remained still, stalwart in his stance as Minho appeared not inches before him, lips bared back over stained teeth and eyes blazing in their shade. Fresh from the feed and high on rage, no doubt.

“You’re a fucking thief.”

Chan’s eyes widened, though only momentarily.

For Minho was correct, technically. He’d stolen away the one thing that could ensure her companionship with him, and he had his reasons for that. Reasons he wasn’t about to justify to his entitled brother, no matter how likely he was to do him harm.

“You stole her,” Minho continued, not seeming to notice the minor shift in Chan’s cool and collected demeanour. “Took her right out from under my goddamn nose.”

Chan relaxed marginally, once again assured that his brother couldn’t have known about his brief kleptomaniac tendency. He’d made sure of that.

“I won’t apologise,” Chan countered, squaring his shoulders. “And I won’t make any excuses. We made things clear to one another. You knew how I felt, that I intended to pursue her.”

“Right, and what bullshit did you ply her with to get her to fuck you, hm? Did you play the lonely boy act? Slip her the feelings card? What was it, brother?”

“Please,” he scoffed. “You forget Minho, _you’re_ the one that plays games. I’ve no need to resort to such tactics.”

Minho tensed, eyes wild.

Chan supposed he could have walked away. Could have retracted his claws and been the bigger person, the leader he was supposed to be.

“She just wanted me, see?”

But with the repetition of Minho’s very words from their first confrontation, it was then that he knew, he wasn’t above the things he’d done.

As his brother emitted a growl of frustration, rearing back his strong right arm, as Chan effortlessly dodged the straight armed punch that was afforded his way, he surmised that for all Minho’s flaws and apparent issues, they really weren’t that different after all.

Minho lurched forwards, the strength of his own punch carrying him several yards past his brother before he steadied himself, whirling around with newfound rage.

“I won’t fight you,” Chan stated, his voice loud and strikingly stable.

“Why the fuck not?!”

“We’re not animals, brother. What would it even achieve?”

Minho shrugged, cracking his neck in tandem with his knuckles.

“It’d make me feel better.”

Another lunge in Chan’s direction, once more dodged as the blonde misted from sight and took to refuge in the nearest tree. Perched atop a stable branch, he glared down at his red-headed brother, the wind gusting around him gently.

Minho scoffed, a smirk of resigned defeat laced to his features as he swept his hand through his fiery tresses.

“I won’t let you have her,” he called, his voice travelling clearly through the space between them.

“She’s already mine,” Chan retorted, shrugging nonchalantly. “And even if she wasn’t, you can’t go anywhere near her. You couldn’t keep us apart if you tried.”

“Oh, but I can.”

“What, you’re going to let her fall under your influence? She won’t be herself, you know that-”

“Don’t bother,” Minho interrupted, holding up a stalwart hand. “Appealing to my better nature won’t get you very far. I’m just about done with playing nice.”

Chan could admit to being rattled by that. He wasn’t ignorant to the fact that it was indeed Minho’s better nature that had willed him to stay away, because in all honesty, he didn’t _have_ to. He could easily have capitalised on what he had, made use of it as he’d always done.

In fact, now that he thought about it, that itself could be considered testament to his brothers’ depth of feeling for the girl. Because he wanted her to want him, and not just because his allure demanded it.

Because he _needed_ it.

A surge of guilt rushed him, crushed his chest, yet it was all too late given the circumstances.

“Minho, I-”

“Enough,” he interrupted. “We’re done here.”

Minho turned on his heel, his shoulders seeming to carry a weight that Chan was all too familiar with.

“Just know that this is far from over, brother.”

Chan knew him to be right.

* * *

##### “I’m back, sweet-”

The apparent spring in Chan’s step, the grandeur to his entrance was cut short.

A myriad of questions had made themselves known the moment you’d found your necklace, tucked away in the confines of his dressing table drawer, the answers to which you could only speculate at.

And so you’d made your decision.

Chan hesitated as he saw you, something in your persona, or perhaps even in the air, indicative of troubles to come.

You remained perched on the end of his bed, fully clothed and fists curled to your lap, a deliberately blank expression etched to your face.

Certainly not the way he’d expected to find you, given the circumstances under which he’d left. The circumstances under which you were even in his room at all.

“Y/N?” He asked, uncertainty rife in his tone. “Is… everything okay?”

You glanced up at him, fighting to quell the bubbling rage that rose inside you. Speculations, you reminded yourself, those were all you had so far. You wanted to give him a chance to explain, give him a chance to justify what possible reason went into his stowing of your pendant.

Because there _had_ to be one. You prayed there _was_ one.

“Can I ask you something?” You asked, the precursor to your interrogation.

He nodded, yet refrained from approaching you. At least he’d caught on to the atmosphere, if nothing else.

“Did you ever find my necklace?”

A simple question, yet one that held more weight than anything you’d asked him so far. If he answered to the positive, told the truth that you knew to be, you could work towards forgiveness and delve deeper. It was the preferred outcome, by all means. Perhaps it was deceptive of you to try and catch him out, but that almost seemed irrelevant now.

Yet if he lied?

He froze, crimson eyes blown open just long enough to tell you that your question had been the furthest possible thing from his mind. It was _so_ out of the blue, in fact, you wondered if he’d put the pieces together himself and surmise why you were asking at all. It wouldn’t be out of the realms of possibility that you’d find the one thing he didn’t want you to, when left alone in his room.

But his answer made your heart sink.

After a moment of contemplation, he inhaled deeply as he shook his head, yet that wasn’t quite enough confirmation for you. You supposed it could be misinterpreted, and you couldn’t allow any space for that. Not now.

Perhaps another chance was needed.

“Does that mean you didn’t?”

“No…” He sighed, shaking his head once more. “I didn’t. Did you…?”

More weight gathered on your heart, his second rejection of your olive branch seeming to set the turn of this deplorable conversation.

A wry smile crossed your lips as you stood from the bed, your fingers dipping into the back pocket of the jeans he’d slipped from your body the night before.

You took hold of the chain, pulling it carefully and letting it dangle from your fingertips. You held it up in front of you, watching as Chan’s face all but dropped.

“I did.”

He swept his hands through his hair, both remaining at his temples as he took another inhalation of breath.

“Where… did you find it?” He asked, though you were sure he knew the answer. He had to, and yet he still seemed to be avoiding all responsibility. Maybe he was hoping for the best, for a stroke of dumb, ridiculous luck.

“You know where I found it, Chan.” You muttered, a heavy weight settling to your shoulders.

He dropped his hands from his head, taking a step towards you in appeal before you held out your other one, stopping him abruptly. For if he touched you, you were sure your thoughts would skew past the point of rationality.

“I need you to tell me why you had this. Right now.”

You could almost see the cogs turning, the excuses and bewildering justifications making themselves known to him, one after another. They hung from the tip of his tongue as he opened his mouth, each one of them seeming to catch short of release. He was hesitating. Holding back. From a truth he either didn’t want you to know, or didn’t want known to himself.

“Tell me!” You shouted, the earlier rage returning to you in waves.

“I… I just… _Fuck_ , Y/N, I don’t have a good reason, I-”

“So what? You just took it for yourself? What were you going to do with it? Wear it? Sell it off? Keep it forever?! This wasn’t _yours_ to keep Chan, you know I’ve been driving myself nuts with trying to find it since-”

Since Minho. The day you’d lost it, after your idiotic attempt at proving a point to the redheaded vampire.

Your chest ached, your yearning to see him once again manifesting with the newfound truth that now, you’d be able to do just that. The only reason you’d been apart from him at all was down to the very absence of this pendant, the one thing that protected you from the indomitable pull of his allure, that allowed you to be yourself around him.

And that only served to fan the flames of your anger. Because Chan had robbed you of that.

“How long?” You rasped, your hands curling to fists. “How long have you had it?”

“I don’t-”

“Don’t _fucking_ lie to me!”

A groan of frustration escaped him, a clear conflict laced to his stunning features, and for the briefest of moments, you wondered if you were pushing too hard. It was a blatant betrayal, and he’d outright lied to you, there was no denying that. But given what you shared the night before, the things you’d said and committed to… Was this worth it?

“A while,” he mumbled, gaze dropping to the floor, “I found it the day you lost it.”

You raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him, taking a step closer.

“Why didn’t you give it back to me…?”

“B- Because… because I-”

More hesitation. More anger.

“Were you _ever_ going to give it back to me?”

“Jesus, of course, Y/N, I just-”

“You left me undefended! Unprotected!” You hissed, recounting the dangerously close call you’d had with Dion at the club, how the presence of your pendant might have spared you a measure of the fear you’d felt. “I could have fucking _died_ , Chan-”

“No, you wouldn’t have, Y/N. I was there, _I_ protected you, not that goddamn piece of metal.” He retorted.

“Oh, I’m sorry, but this _goddamn piece of metal_ is the only thing you left me with when you took all my shit, and it’s saved my life far often than you ever have. How _dare_ you take it away from me-”

The air felt weighted, crackling around the two of you with a tension all too different from the one you’d experienced the night before.

Yet Chan stood silent, an expression of something you couldn’t identify holding heavy in his crimson eyes. And that only served to exacerbate the resentment.

“Are you even hearing me?! _Tell_ me what the hell was going through your head when you-”

“You want a profound reason?!” He bellowed, finally making the eye contact you’d been after this entire time. “A detailed fucking account of all the incredible thoughts I had when I hid it?! Well you’re going to be sorely disappointed, sweetheart, because quite frankly, there’s only one reason I didn’t give that cursed thing back.”

You stopped short, taken aback at his outburst and clearly in need of further explanation.

He steeled himself, his expression now fierce with new resolve.

“I don’t want you near him, Y/N. I don’t want you to talk to Minho, I don’t want you to look at Minho, I don’t want you in the same fucking _room_ as Minho. Ever. And keeping that thing from you was the one way I could make sure that happened.”

It seemed almost unbelievable, these statements leaving Chan’s lips. Statements that indicated rampant jealousy, a need to possess, a need to keep you away from the things that might tempt you away from _him_. But that couldn’t be right. That wasn’t him. That wasn’t the man you knew.

“You don’t mean that-”

“Oh, but I do,” he half-laughed, “you don’t know how much I do. He’s my brother, I know, and I love him. I’d give him anything Y/N, if he asked for it, and I’ve done so in the past. Indulged his wants and turned a blind eye on every occasion, for _his_ happiness. Because that’s what I thought I _should_ do. It’s what leaders do, right?”

He looked up to the ceiling, raising his hands before letting them drop in an act of defeat.

“But just _once_ … I wanted to hold on to something. To grab the thing that blinds me with this… this feeling of hope, of warmth, instead of blinding _myself_ to it all so he can have _his_ fucking way. I’m done with standing in the cold, Y/N. Done with pretending I don’t need you.”

A breath caught in your throat with his monologue, the sincerity behind it so gut wrenching it took everything in you not to burst into tears born of frustration and sheer confusion.

“I know… I left you unprotected by hiding it,” he continued, “but I was so sure… so _fucking_ certain I’d be able to protect you. To be the shield you needed instead of that thing. How was I supposed to know my brothers would take you away? Out of my sight? I near lost my mind when I realised you weren’t here. I had to find you…”

“But Chan, this doesn’t make any sense!” You interrupted, confusion clear in your voice. “Minho and I, we’re just fr-”

“Do _not_ insult me like that,” he warned, his eyes flashing with his own building anger, “you can’t call me out for lying if you stand there and do the exact same fucking thing.”

You shook your head, his blatant observation of the obvious seeming to strike you with more surprise than it should have.

Because you and Minho weren’t just friends. Just as you and Chan could no longer be considered _only_ that. You’d known it the moment you’d kissed the redhead, that moonlit night at the fountain. Even despite his warnings to neglect any attachment, you were already pulled in. You weren’t sure why you’d tried to play it off that way at all.

And your silence seemed to indicate that truth to Chan, as much it did to yourself.

“It doesn’t matter, you know.” You whispered, head hung low as your eyes began to prick with inexplicable tears. “How I feel, or don’t feel… about Minho. He’s made himself clear, more than once. I was only ever good to him for a quick fuck.”

A scoff of disbelief resounded from Chan, your head snapping up with the sound.

“You really believe that?” He asked, lowering the volume of his voice.

You did. You had no reason not to. And so you nodded in respect of that, to a result of Chan simply sighing heavily.

“Minho is conceited,” he proclaimed, shoving his hands to his pockets, “Unpredictable and reckless. He’ll kill those that mean nothing to him just as quickly as he’ll kiss them… but he’s fierce in the things he holds dear. The things he… loves.”

You cocked your head as you blinked away the tears that had formed. Whatever implication his words had held, you’d surely missed it.

“Chan, I don’t understand-”

“Good. I don’t _want_ you to understand. Don’t ask me to stand here and speak on his behalf, because I can’t. I’ve said too much already.”

His eyes shone with something you’d never seen from him before, and you’ve have identified them as tears in any other moment, with any other person.

But this was Chan, stalwart and resolute. Chan didn’t break. He didn’t cry.

“I know I made a mistake…” he choked, “I’ll just add that to the long fucking list. But I also won’t apologise, Y/N. Given a second chance, I’d do the same thing again.”

He turned on his heel, approaching the bedroom door with a heaviness to his step that he certainly hadn’t had on his entrance.

“I… I meant everything I said last night.” He mumbled, glancing over his shoulder. “Please remember that.”

And with that, he promptly left the room, the soft click of the door behind him plunging you into a rabid sense of confusion and upset as you staggered back to the edge of the bed.

He’d said he had no good reason for keeping your pendant away, and while initially, you were inclined to agree, his statement now didn’t sit right with you. It left you with nothing but a sense of unsettled trepidation, an urge to correct him on every part.

Who were either of you to measure what makes a good reason for the things that are done?

He’d asked you not to forget. Not to forget that you were irreplaceable to him. That you were his instinct, and that he couldn’t lose you.

You’d never be so bold as to assume it was something akin to love that he felt, for you felt you weren’t worthy of such a precious thing. Or at least, not from someone like him.

Yet if those things weren’t indicative of love in every sense, then what was?

Limerence? Obsession? For you, or your blood? A mere phase that would wear off with his unending passage of time?

No. You supposed it couldn’t be drawn up to something as trivial as a phase.

You hoped it couldn’t be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	16. Chapter 16

##### “Jisung, hey!”

You called, jogging down the luxurious corridor after him as you spied him rounding the corner of it.

You hadn’t had him in your sights specifically, but you were sure he could aid you in finding the one who was. He’d always enjoyed being helpful, anyway.

Jisung glanced back in your direction, his large hoodie sweeping to well below waist level, his hair fluffed and almost ludicrously shiny. He smiled brightly at your presence, large crimson eyes widening in that manner they always did, stopping where he was as he allowed you a chance to catch up with him.

“What’s up?” He grinned, though his smile quickly shifted as his memory caught up with him. “You probably shouldn’t be up and about yet-”

“I’m fine.” You breathed, catching your breath as you waved off his concern. “Have you, uh… have you seen Minho?”

The young vampire cocked his head, the disapproval rife on his features not coming as a surprise to you. You supposed they were all aware of your instructions to stay away from the redhead. That was probably Chan’s doing.

“I just need to talk to him. I can do that now, see?”

You gestured towards the pendant at your décolletage, holding it up from your chest for him to see. Despite the mild annoyance you harboured that you even had to justify your desire to see Minho at all, you knew it was coming from a place of concern, and you couldn’t grudge him too much for that.

Jisung pursed his lips, not half as shocked by the appearance of your pendant as you thought he should be. You’d expected a clap of glee, at the very least.

“Where did you find it?” He asked, though his tone implied that he already knew.

“Uh… it’s a long story-”

“Chan had it, right?”

You choked on the breath in your lungs, his accurate observation seeming too impossible to just be drawn up to faeblood intuition. He knew something you didn’t.

“How did you…?”

He simply chuckled, shaking his head in exasperation with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

“Could he be any more predictable?” He muttered, more to himself than to you.

“Jisung, what do you-

“Hey, have I ever told you what my allure is?” He suddenly questioned, diverging topics quicker than you could keep up.

You shook your head, still in utter bewilderment as to where his train of thought was going. He glanced over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes before he leaned in carefully.

“I can make people fall in love,” he whispered, as if sharing a secret between best friends, “I can conjure up that wonderful feeling and instil it in a lonely heart.”

“L- Love?” You stammered, repeating a measure of his confession.

He hummed in agreement, raising his eyebrows mischievously.

“That’s right. The big L. Just a little kiss from me to you, then from me to the thorn in your side, and you’ll be head over heels for one another, just as real as the daylight. Cool, right?”

You weren’t sure cool was the adjective you’d have used to describe his unprecedented ability, but you could certainly see the value it held, to a degree. A very specific, near useless degree for a vampire, if you were to be blunt about it.

“Have you ever used it?”

A wry smile crossed his lips, a gentle shake of his head indicating his answer.

“Not for a long time. And you know what?” He beamed, his excitement for something you’d clearly missed shining through.

“I don’t think I’m going to have to any time soon. Isn’t it nice when things pan out naturally?”

And with that, he spun on his heel, flashing you a wink before he bounded back down the corridor with a spring in his step.

“Minho’s in the courtyard!” He called, throwing a wave over his shoulder in your general direction.

While he’d been generally helpful on the whole thanks to his confirmation on Minho’s whereabouts, you couldn’t shake the confusion he’d left you with. You wondered if there was a point to any of that at all, or if it was simply Jisung being himself.

But either way, you had your answer.

And you were about to discover if that was for better, or worse.

* * *

##### The outer courtyard easily presented one of your favourite locations within the vampire estate.

The uneven gravel path beneath your feet crunched quietly with every step you took, the tall green hedgerows and varied flower beds decorating your way as you wandered inside in search of Minho.

Last time you’d been here was the dead of night. The whole place had taken on a melancholy atmosphere, attractive in its’ loneliness and apparent seclusion as it was bathed in the sullen hues of the moonlight and darkness.

Now that you were seeing it in the capture of the sunrise, however, you knew its’ beauty to be something that transcended the times of day.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d heard the chirping of birds, and while you could associate that with your usual residence of the city, it was still a welcome sound. Almost a surprise, you noted, though it shouldn’t have been. Gatherings of nature such as this have a way of attracting wildlife to its’ grounds, regardless of the occupants.

The crisp, gentle air that blew through the yard caressed your bare legs as you walked, a subsequent shiver running down your spine with the drop in temperature. You cursed yourself out for not grabbing a jacket before your departure, but admittedly, there were more pressing things on your agenda.

Minho being the top one.

Raising your hand instinctively to your décolletage, you found comfort once again in the presence of your wild rose pendant, though now you knew that comfort to be for largely different reasons than they’d started out as. Reasons that could be directly related to the protection it offered you from Minho and his allure, the allure that essentially rendered you deaf to anything he said, and dumb to anything but him.

The irony that those effects were only reduced with your pendant, wasn’t lost on you.

Minho had a distinct way of making you feel like the only person in the room, his inherent charm and penchant for danger only adding to his prominent appeal.

He hadn’t needed the help of his allure to reduce you to submission the first time you’d come painfully close to having him. He’d outright refused it, in fact, imploring you to keep your pendant on at all times. You knew that was simply because he found a sweeter, rampant satisfaction in claiming you naturally, because he’d told you such himself. And you certainly preferred to have your wits and senses about you until they were undoubtedly hazed from your mind in the best of ways.

Though even with the pendant on, with all the protection it offered, it still wasn’t enough to safeguard you from the inherent attraction. The simple pull he held, the way you found yourself drawn to him from the first moment you’d seen him, like a moth to bare flame. It was inexplicable, even to you.

You missed him dearly, and while you knew that sentiment wouldn’t be returned, you now had the chance to see him again, and it was the only thing you wanted to do.

You’d just have to ignore the aching in your heart, the one that pined for another while screaming a distant warning you couldn’t quite make out.

For now.

* * *

##### You weren’t sure how long you’d been searching the grounds, but telling from the visible shakes that had set into your shoulders with the cold, you could be sure it was too damn long.

You spied the end of the hedgerow in front of you, recognising it as one of the areas Minho had brought you to your first time here. If memory served you correctly, you knew the long abandoned fountain to be just around the corner of this, and so, you followed the path with haste in your step.

And sure enough, turning the bend and following the better part of your instinct, you were greeted by the sight of the familiar spot he’d shown you. The place you’d indulged in your very first kiss with him.

The lonely, cold fountain, bereft of any water and claimed by overgrowth, ivy and foliage. It sat in the centre of the gravel path, surrounded on all sides by wildflowers and tall hedges. Archways stood bold and proud, though even they seemed to pale in comparison to the beauty of the thing your eyes found.

Minho.

Clad in his usual attire of black leather and silk, his perfect red tresses fell over his eyes, swept back on one side to reveal the piercings along his lobe. He held one knee to his chest as he perched on the edge of the fountain, the other swinging freely before burying itself in the gravel. He rucked up the stones, kicking them loose before he swung it again, his eyes closed and head tilted back in something akin to appreciation for the gradual rising of the sun. Thick black lashes grazed the tops of his cheeks, his lips relaxed and parted only slightly. His sharp side profile took your breath away, just as it had every time before, and you took the pounding in your chest as all the confirmation you’d needed.

It was just as prominent as you’d felt it with Chan, you realised, when he’d found you at the club.

A sense of instant safety, of familiarity and content, like seeing a place you recognised and could only ever associate with constant good things, be they memories or feelings.

Whatever his reasons for being out here, his reasons for the seclusion, he appeared to be at peace. And of that, you were glad. You didn’t want him to know of the turmoil you were experiencing, and perhaps it was selfish of you to want to speak to him again. To ask him how he’d been, or what he’d been doing.

But you still wanted to know. Desperately.

You took a careful step forward, the gravel beneath your feet seeming louder than ever as you approached his position. You debated calling out to him, breaking the silence and giving him the option to turn away from you. Maybe he’d want that.

Yet you didn’t. You remained quiet, hoping that each little step and each breath you took wouldn’t alert him until you got close enough to appreciate the way the sun lit up the stunning complexion of his skin.

You outstretched your arm to touch him, holding it in suspension as you closed the little distance that remained.

Three steps to go… two… just one more…

And Minho’s eyes snapped open, his head whipping around in your direction. Before you could speak or call out to him, he shot up from his position, seeming to mist from existence as he disappeared and promptly reappeared at the very top of the statue that adorned the fountain, of the woman with her barren vase.

A graceful as a Lynx, and with little to no effort, he balanced atop it perfectly, sinking to a feral crouching position as he glowered down at you.

“Weren’t you told to stay away?” He snarled, his immediate demeanour being nothing but hostile.

You supposed that shouldn’t have hurt you as much as it did, and you could only hope it was coming from a place of concern on his part.

“I… I don’t need to stay away anymore…” You stammered, fingers once again closing in on the pendant at your décolletage.

He cocked his head, vision focusing on the way you were clutching at your chest.

“You got it back?”

You nodded in response, holding your other arm up to shield your eyes from the growing dazzle of the rising sun. You could barely make him out like this, his form now shrouded in contrasting shadow as the hues of orange and amber behind him proved too bright a background.

“I found it.” You replied, raising your voice although you knew you didn’t need to.

“Where?”

You hesitated, wondering if you could tell him without directly _telling_ him that Chan had been responsible for its’ stowing. You supposed it would only lead to more trouble in the long run, and with everything that had happened so far, that was surely the last thing any of you needed.

“In a drawer…?”

A moment of silence settled in, as if he was waiting for the elaboration you didn’t want to give. You dropped your gaze to the gravelled ground as they struggled to focus on him atop the statue, your vision whiting at the edges.

“Which drawer?” He finally asked, and the dread that had pooled in your stomach returned to you all at once.

You wouldn’t be able to get around this. Another lie would only do more damage, though you could no longer be sure to who.

“In… Chan’s room.”

Yet much to your surprise, the raging storm you were sure would come, didn’t.

Instead, there was laughter.

Deep, throaty laughter as Minho held his head in his hands, misting from the top of the statue to stand before you. His laugh echoed with him, his lip catching between his teeth as whatever hilarity he found in the whole thing seemed to settle.

“That sneaky bloodsucker…” He sighed, his gaze fixed to your pendant. “Guess he got me.”

You were clearly missing something here. Some prior confrontation or standoff between these brothers that had happened without your knowledge, centring around your pendant, and if you were being truthful about it, it was beginning to get the better of you.

You couldn’t help but feel like you were being played the fool.

“What the hell are you talking about? He got _you_?”

Minho nodded, a look of smug appreciation on his face that only irked you further.

“He did.”

“And what about me? I was lied to, wasn’t I?”

“You were. Doesn’t that piss you off?” He teased, his voice holding a lilt you’d never heard before.

“Yes,” you spat, taking a challenging step towards him, “it does fucking piss me off. And you know what? So do you.”

An expression of disbelief crossed his face, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

“What the fuck did I do? You’re the one that lost your necklace trying to prove a stupid point-”

“You know exactly what you’ve done! The two of you, I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to do or what little competition this is, but I’m just about done with it. I’m sick of being kept in the dark, always a step behind.”

“Y/N, I-”

“No,” you interrupted, holding a hand up to him, “you’ll hear me out, so shut it. Chan says I belong to him, you tell me you could have me if you want me, but what about what _I_ want? Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want either of you?”

He scoffed under his breath, your tenacity clearly taking him by surprise.

“Are you done?” He asked, sliding his hands to his pockets.

“No.”

A childish retort at best, and you knew it.

“Right, well,” he smirked, sitting elegantly on the edge of the fountain, “I’ll tell you this while I’m still in the mood to talk to you, because honestly, you’re testing my patience, kitten. But your stupidity seems to break through a winner every time.”

“I’m not-”

He held a silencing finger up to you, his demeanour changing once again. Confident and calm, just like that day back in your apartment. It was enough to get you to comply.

“It boils down to this. Chan wants you. I want you. And neither of us wants the other to have you. Is that clear enough?”

“You… want me?” You stammered, the breath catching in your throat.

He nodded in response, pursing his lips.

“I do. I’d have thought that was obvious.”

“B- But… Want me how? You told me I was only good for-”

“I know what I told you.” He interrupted, sweeping his hand through his stark red locks. “And I meant it at the time. But now I want you more than that. Deeper than that. I guess, in the end, I… I underestimated you. Overestimated myself. It appears that I… I might _need_ you.”

You didn’t miss the way those last words rolled off his tongue, like it was toxin for him to even speak them, let alone think or feel them.

“I don’t understand.” You whined, resisting the urge to bounce on your feet in desperation.

You knew you were more enamoured with him than you’d first let on. Whatever your reasons, he was a thorn in your side before you’d known it. You’d come to acknowledge those feelings, for the most part, burying them as much as you could in light of the fact that Minho would never be able to return them.

Because that’s what he’d said. That’s what he’d made crystal clear, despite the small acts of kindness and the patience he’d had with you, even when you were under the effects of his allure. You were not to get attached.

Chan had been blunt about it, at least. Last night, he’d laid his cards to the table, and you’d picked them up, returning the sentiment.

But now? All of that had been thrown to disarray.

“It’s a new one on me too.” He muttered, sighing heavily. “But no matter how I spin it, you’re the first human I’ve met that I _want_ to stay alive. I don’t want you to die, or get hurt. I don’t even want you to be sad. Maybe it’s just because I can exist around you without you losing your mind, so long as you have that damn thing on, or… maybe I’m just fishing for an excuse that sounds good enough. But our time apart drove me near crazy, and I don’t go crazy kitten, not for anyone, or anything. Ever.”

“What do you want me to do with this, Minho? _Fuck_ , I… Chan and I, we-”

“Don’t.” He snapped, his eyes flashing with the words you were about to speak.

He stood from his spot on the fountain, stalking towards you slowly.

“Why do you think I’m out here?”

You shook your head, taking an instinctive step back with his approach, your stomach churning with anticipation, much as it did every time he got like this.

“I couldn’t bear it, Y/N. I…” He hesitated, his jaw locking with whatever was plaguing his mind. “I heard everything. Your whimpers and cries, the way you _begged_ for him. How you chanted his name-”

“Minho, I-”

“The whole goddamn house heard it.” He continued, ignoring your attempts at appeal. “There’s not a vampire in this place that doesn’t know what you sound like now. Do you know… Do you have even the _slightest_ idea how fucking hard it was for me not to ruin that? I had to get away. Hunt. Run. Anything.”

You swallowed harshly, your cheeks burning involuntarily. It was partway to do with mortification, you knew, the sheer idea that he’d heard any of what went on last night sitting uneasily with you. The rest was down to his simple proximity, the way he was now only a foot away from you.

“I _could_ have done what Chan did to me. To us. Could have burst in there and swept you away from him. Fuck, I wouldn’t have even had to touch you, my allure would have done it for me. But you know what?”

He cocked his head, reaching out to grab your wrist as he pulled you in the little distance that remained. Fingertips graced your chin, tilted your head up to meet his deep crimson gaze, your head blanking all over again.

“There’s not a single thing he can promise that I can’t take away or do better, kitten.”

“You say that like it’s fact…”

“It is.” He confirmed, his eyes glossing to your lips. “He promised to keep you safe, didn’t he? Protect you? I heard about what happened at the club. Granted, I got the cliff notes version from Ji but… seems to me that he only made good on that promise by the skin of his teeth. Hardly reliable.”

It wasn’t as though that thought hadn’t struck you. You’d pointed it out yourself, that the absence of your pendant gave Dion opportunity to do what he did. But you also knew you’d had your own part to play in the whole sordid affair.

“That was… It wasn’t entirely his fault. I was reckless, acted like an idiot-”

“And if you’d had your pendant, _I_ would have been there with you. _I_ would have held you, and danced with you, and-”

“But you weren’t Minho,” you interrupted, sensing the loss in his composure, “there’s no use going over it again. You’re here now, aren’t you?”

“That _fucking_ fool put you right in harms way, if it was anyone else I’d have ripped-”

He stopped himself, eyes screwing closed before he took a stabilising breath.

“He acted on selfish desire, Y/N, nothing more. He took your pendant, fucked both of us over and kept us apart. But now he’s had a single taste, one that I honestly hope he savoured.”

Your breath spiked as he leaned in carefully, his presence pulling you in more powerfully than an allure ever could have.

“Because a single taste… is all he’s _ever_ getting.”

And with that, he captured you once more.

Your lips and his melded beautifully, the sharp bridge of his nose meeting yours as he kissed you. Slow and passionate, soft and chilling, it rendered you dizzy as he snaked his arm around your waist.

It was instinct, the way your fingers curled to his silk shirt. How you moaned quietly into his kiss, how he drunk them in, one after another, raising up the material of your clothes as he held you flush to him. You craned to your tiptoes, sliding your arms around his neck, his hands finding your hips for support.

It was as if you’d never been apart. As if your earlier encounters with him had been but seconds prior with the rampant desire that claimed you.

Chan’s warnings fell to the background, his image waning with every second Minho kept his hands on you. Though the ache in your heart couldn’t be dissipated, not even with his pull, and you found yourself wondering through the haze of lust and wanting, if you were doing the right thing. If this, despite the outward threat and moral dilemma of vampires versus humans being present, made you a bad person.

Though you didn’t have much time to dwell on it.

For Minho broke the kiss, far too suddenly, far too hastily to have been a precursor to the next thing he had in mind.

He froze in place, eyes darting to something behind you as he quickly ushered you around to his back, your would-be whines of complaint catching in your throat as you caught on to his demeanour.

His shoulders tensed, his ears seeming to prick up as he focused on something in the distance. He sunk to his knees, pressing his fingertips atop the gravel. All you could hear was silence, deafening and for miles around, save for the occasional chirp of a bird or gust of gentle wind.

Yet you knew better than to assume Minho didn’t know better than you.

“Stay here…” He mouthed over his shoulder, to which you only nodded in response.

And with that, he misted from your sight. To somewhere beyond the tall hedgerows that surrounded you, and for a moment, there was only silence. Heavy and fraught with the unknown, you tensed in anticipation of the next thing.

Before you heard sounds of a struggle. A yelp of something akin to pain, followed by strained movement and the rustling of leaves and foliage.

It was over as quickly as it had begun, and you watched in horror as Minho reappeared around the corner of the path you’d entered by, yet he wasn’t alone.

In his hand, strung up like a wolf carries their pups by the scruff of their neck, was a suited man.

It appeared effortless, the way Minho held him in the air like a trophy. He hung limply, having obviously been on the losing end of whatever brief battle had occurred while Minho had not so much as a hair out of place.

He threw his seemingly lifeless body to the ground before you, the momentum sliding him along the gravel until he came to an abrupt stop at your feet.

“What the fuck?” You muttered, and that was about all you could manage.

“Guess it’s already started.” Minho sighed, cracking his neck out coolly.

“What’s started? Who is this?”

“One of Dion’s, I’d wager. He stinks of that place.”

You knew he was referring to the club, there was no need for that confirmation. You also knew what he meant by the stench of the place, because it was unmistakable to you now. Even without the heightened senses of a vampire, you’d been so drowned in the odour of iron and alcohol, the stale linger of sex, that the simple mention of it sent your stomach to churning. You could only imagine how terrible it must have smelled to Minho and the others.

With Minho’s speculation of him being one of Dion’s, came the answer to your first question too. The others had warned you that this was coming. His revenge, his warpath, whatever he called it. A pit formed in your gut at the prospect, cool chills claiming you.

“Is he… is he a-”

“A vampire?” Minho interrupted, dusting off his hands nonchalantly. “Oh yeah. A terrible one too, barely put up a fight. He’s alive though. More or less. I think.”

Perhaps he was trying to lighten the mood. But you didn’t see the point. Couldn’t appreciate the intention. And he caught on to that.

“I need you to go get Chan for me. I’ll stay with the peeping creep.”

“R- Really?” You stammered, loathe at the prospect of having to see him again after your last parting terms.

Minho cocked his head, his eyes appearing sympathetic as he strolled towards you quickly. He took your hands in his, pulling you back into the safety of his arms. It was a welcome sensation, even with the intruder lying below you.

“I’d rather you didn’t see him either,” he soothed, tilting your chin up to look him in the eye, “I’d say he’s taken up more than enough of your time. But this takes precedence now. We need to fix it, get ready for what’s to come. Everything else can wait, okay?”

“What if I don’t want it to wait?” You whispered, your cheeks flushing with his proximity. “Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough?”

His lids slid closed for a moment, his jaw tensing with your words before he rasped under his breath.

“I’d quite happily take you right now, kitten. Our pal here is out for the count. But is that what _you_ want?”

You supposed when you really thought about, it wasn’t. As much you desired Minho, as much you were running rampant with your need to feel him again, you knew this wasn’t the time nor place. You’d just have to bury your issues and differences with both of them, for the time being. And the idea of being with him in the freezing outdoors didn’t sit entirely well with you.

Minho was right. This needed to be fixed, and that must have been written all over your face.

“Good girl.” He soothed, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Now run along and find him, tell him to meet me in the main room.”

You nodded in response, shaking off the lingering desires he instilled in you as stepped out of his arms, make a beeline back towards the main estate.

Bury the feelings. That’s what you’d keep doing.

* * *

##### It hadn’t taken you long to find Chan, his whereabouts being relatively easy to suss out once you’d eliminated the possibility of him being in his room.

You stepped into the library you’d once found him in, unsurprised to see it dark and void of life, on the surface.

“Chan?” You called, wandering into the deeper recesses of the bookshelves, towards the makeshift personal space you knew he’d made back there.

“Chan…? You here?”

Your voice echoed off the walls that weren’t lined with thick, heavy books, your eyes taking a moment to adjust to the darkness until you spied the faint flicker of candle flame from between the stands.

And sure enough, as you approached the worn, red leather sofa and the gathering of old books and bottles, you found your target.

Sprawled out on the sofa, one booted foot slung to the arm of the furniture as the other dangled loosely off the side. He held his arm beneath his head, his eyes closed in peaceful rest, the book that he’d presumably been reading splayed open on his chest.

It was a heart wrenching sight, that much you could be sure of.

He seemed so content, a million miles away from himself as he dozed quietly, his lips pursed in relaxation. The piercing in his eyebrow reflected the gentle light of the open flame, and that only bathed him in a soft glow. The scar on his face, courtesy of Dion, it seemed paler now, but you were sure it would take yet more time for it to disappear completely, even with the helping of blood you’d allowed him to take from you.

That you’d begged him to take from you.

You approached his side carefully, sinking to your knees beside him. Absent fingertips swept back the lock of white blonde hair that had fallen out of place across his forehead, and the sense of helpless admiration had set in before you knew it.

Perhaps it was in that moment, despite the outward urgency you had to rouse him from his sleep and drop another world of troubles on him, that you knew yourself to be enraptured with him.

For how couldn’t you be, truthfully?

“I’m so sorry…” You muttered, the irony of your useless apology not being lost on you.

He wouldn’t hear it. Couldn’t accept it, nor rebuke you for it. But you needed to give it, nonetheless. Because you _were_ sorry.

Sorry that, even despite your initial anger with his lie and uncharacteristic act of thievery, you truly couldn’t keep up the pretence of resentment with him. For your heart seemed to betray you at every possible turn, and as much as you wanted him, you wanted his brother just as strongly. Surely that rendered you guilty of much bigger a sin.

So you were simply sorry. Regret ridden, and still as selfish as could be.

And then he awoke.

Ice cold fingers caught your own, locking with them carefully. He turned on his side, the book falling to the floor as his dazed crimson eyes focused on you. There was a moment of silence, a moment of hesitation that held heavy in the air, both of you wanting to say a thousand things that in the end, would mean nothing.

For Chan knew. He saw it in your eyes. The battle of emotion and soundless moral compass you fought with.

And so he said nothing. Nor did you.

He simply swept you into his arms, pulling you over him in a split second. Your back was encased to the seat of the sofa as he flipped your positions, your lips captured with his in a moment so passionate you were sure he could have pulled you in to the dream he’d just been having.

Your legs parted for him naturally, his form slotting between them as though they were his home. His strong arms rested either side of your head as he tasted your tongue on his, melded his lips to yours as though you had all the time in the world. Gentle moans of desire escaped you as his hand promptly slid to the button on your jeans, your breathing laboured and ragged with your descent into lust.

And that lust only sped things up. Your jeans were shimmied down by your own hand after he’d loosened them, left still clinging to one leg as you freed the other in growing haste. Chan fought with the buckle on his own trousers, frantic in his motions. It was only when he’d managed to shove them down enough to free his solid length that he returned to you, your bare leg being hitched around his hips.

A second of anticipation, of breaths held still as he eased himself inside you, your sexes connecting in the most intimate of ways. And the breaths were mutually released, yours for relief of being filled, his for the heaven you wrapped him in.

He moved like liquid with no need for affirmation, his thrusts driving you gently up the sofa as he fucked you slowly. Given the fever of the moment, you were prepared for it to be rushed, a clear show of desire taking precedence despite what was going on outside.

Yet Chan seemed to be of no such mind. His head buried to your neck, one large hand melding the flesh of your raised thigh, he expelled each staggered breath into your skin as he moved. You held him tightly, one arm thrown around his shoulders, the other tucked between you as you clung to his sheer white shirt, your muffled groans warming him with the tightening of your core.

Each plunge was deeper than the last, each moan more desperate, your inhibitions well and truly drowned in Chan and everything he meant to you.

It had been wordless, a near instinct for him to take you like this. Perhaps it was his own need to claim you again, to apologise and make you his after your argument. He’d have known your first inclination after that would have been to see Minho, and true to form, that’s exactly what you’d done.

You wondered if he smelled his brother on you. If he knew the extent to which you craved Minho, if he was striving to drive that from you by giving himself to you like this. Attempting to create a tunnel vision of sorts, one that would only allow you to see him, and only him.

If you’d had doubt before, you didn’t now.

For you knew it wouldn’t work.

You were utterly damned for them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	17. Chapter 17

##### You heard the exclamations of anger and panic before anything else, the reasons for which required no speculation on your part.

“Quick.” Chan urged, beckoning for you to catch up as he bounded a few steps before you down the hall. “They’ll kill him if they’re alone with him too long.”

And by ‘him’, he was referring to the intruder that Minho had found. The one he’d promptly subdued in the courtyard with near comical timing, given what you were in the middle of. He’d branded him one of Dion’s men within only seconds of his discovery, and you had no reason to doubt the claim.

It was a prelude of worse things to come, you knew, and it had only made your heart sink and your chest tighten with panic.

Yet Minho had reassured you it would be dealt with, but he needed Chan to be able to do that. As estranged as their relationship was at the moment, and you were keenly aware that that was in large part thanks to you, he somehow appeared to have a sound enough mind about him to recognise that Chan was still his leader. His calls were the only ones that mattered when it came to clan business.

And so, Minho had asked you to collect said leader. He’d soothed your worries of seeing him again, which at the time, you’d been grateful for and held true to.

But the moment you’d found Chan sleeping in the library, those worries were a thing of the past. His awakening presented more urgent needs for the both of you, carnal ones, ones that put all other situations on the backburner. Perhaps an unspoken act of forgiveness for the betrayal he’d enacted, if you were to put a meaning to it.

Either way, your revelation _should_ have come sooner. The sudden appearance of Dion’s apparent lackey _should_ have been your first priority.

That simply wasn’t how things had worked out.

Instead, you’d indulged your selfish desires once again, Chan being of a similar mind as he fucked you on the timeworn sofa of his makeshift abode, in the very depths of the musty, silent library.

Unplanned, and very much inappropriate, you were sure.

It was only after your foray with the leader that you gave news of the intrusion, and Chan all but leapt to his feet, any attempt at a refractory period cut short. He didn’t scold you, didn’t chide you for withholding what you’d wanted to say. You supposed he took just as much blame for the events that unfolded as you did, and while you’d relished in it for a while, the lingering guilt that set in as you pulled yourself together and followed him out of the library was tangible. Unsettling.

You could only pray that Minho wouldn’t catch on as to what had kept you for so long. Foolish, you supposed.

Chan ran ahead of you, reaching the door several clear seconds before you did. He waited patiently, hand outstretched to pull you through it with him as the two of you stepped into the grandiose main room of the estate, the source of the voices you’d heard.

The stunning stained glass window that formed the domed ceiling simply glittered with the rising of the sun, which was now in full swing, much to the dismay of the vampires gathered beneath it. They could walk and live in the rays of sunlight, much as any other human could, yet it weakened them drastically. Drained them of their ethereal beauty, even if only a minuscule amount, sapped the extra strength and speed from them.

And it didn’t make for a particularly cheerful creature, least of all.

“Where the _fuck_ have you two been?” Changbin boomed, starting towards the pair of you as you caught your breath.

“Where is he?” Chan asked, releasing your hand as he moved to the centre of the room, dismissing Changbin’s complaint and observation altogether.

All seven of them were stood around the intruder from the courtyard, still just as lifeless and weak as you’d last seen him. Varying expressions of worry, anger and mild disinterest claimed them, your presence not seeming to make a difference until Felix tugged you to his side, one arm linked in yours.

Chan approached the man quickly, sinking to his side before he turned him over to his back.

“You found him outside?”

“Yeah.” Minho replied coolly, reclining to the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. “Sneaking around like a fucking rat. Probably sent to scope us out.”

Chan pursed his lips, clearly thinking something through.

“You’re sure he’s one of Dion’s?”

“Definitely.”

Hyunjin nodded in agreement, gesturing to some invisible scent in front of his nose.

“Can’t you smell him? He reeks of Dion’s boudoir, Chan. Sex and death… stale blood. I’d know it anywhere now.” He grimaced.

“Me too.” Felix added, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

“I fucking _knew_ this was coming,” Seungmin sighed, running his hands through his hair, “you’ve made a serious enemy here, and this is just the start of it. We should just kill him while we still can.”

“Seungmin, not now.” Chan chided, shooting him a glare.

“Then when?” He retorted, gesturing to the air in exasperation. “If this guy really is here on recon, it’s safe to assume there’s more on the way. Or ready to make their move, at the very least. It was never going to take Dion long to recover-”

“You could have finished the job.” Changbin scowled, directed at his leader. “The fossil never stood a chance, you _should_ have ended it. Why leave him alive?”

“Because that’s not what we do!” Jisung yelled, tears pricking at his eyes. “If we start killing our own, we’re no better than… than-”

You felt like you knew what he wanted to say. The words that lingered on the tip of his tongue, that he choked on with a sparing glance in your direction. You couldn’t have blamed him, as much as it hurt.

“Than my kind, right?”

All eyes turned to you, Jisung’s tears escaping as he shook his head in regret. Minho swallowed, his eyes narrowing sharply as he focused his searing crimson gaze on you, to which you simply avoided.

“Look, I know this is my fault,” you spoke, clear and confident as you could manage, “so I need you to let me help. Whatever I can do, I will-”

“Why don’t you start by giving yourself over to Dion? Pretty sure that’d make this all go away.”

Perhaps Seungmin was right. Maybe that was what Dion wanted.

Yet before you even got a chance to respond, Chan slunk to his feet, stalking several steps towards his brother. It was sheer intimidation, you knew, yet it was to wondrous effect.

“I’m only going to say this once.” He barked, his glare centred on Seungmin, though he was addressing everyone in the room.

“I don’t want to hear suggestions like that again. She might have had a part to play in this, but we all did, in some way or another. I won’t entertain any kind of solution that puts her in the slightest bit of fucking danger, so save it. And you seem to forget that she’s still connected to WAHVA. If she gets hurt, and they come looking, guess what happens. Dion will be the least of our problems.”

The room fell silent, the only sounds to be heard coming from Jisung and his gentle sniffles.

“Do I make myself clear?!”

You wanted the ground to swallow you up. You knew his intentions were coming from a good place, from a place of enamour with you, but that didn’t mean you got to shirk responsibility for anything. You didn’t _want_ to. Though right now didn’t strike you as an appropriate time to bring that up.

Agreement seemed to manifest in the form of further silence from the other vampires, and so Chan turned his attention back to the unconscious lackey.

“We need to know for sure why he’s here. When do you think he’ll wake up?”

“Few hours, maybe.” Minho shrugged, clearing his throat before he dragged his piercing gaze from you. “He took it pretty fucking hard.”

A tut of disapproval emanated from Felix, which didn’t go unnoticed.

“What?” Minho retorted, adopting a look of mock offence. “Sue me, I was wound up.”

The subsequent flash of his eyes to you sent a burn to your cheeks, his reasons for being ‘wound up’ not being lost. Because you had been the source of that, at the time.

“Then we wait for him to come around. We need answers, certainty. Working on speculation alone isn’t enough.”

“Oh, give me a fucking break, are we going to house this one too?!” Seungmin cried, very much having lost patience with this whole thing some time ago.

“No. We’re not.” Chan muttered, gesturing for Jeongin and Changbin. “Take him to the basement. Chain him up in the old cells, you know right?”

“We got it.” Changbin confirmed, taking hold of the lackey on one arm as Jeongin grabbed the other. You were visibly relieved to see that Jeongin appeared to be back on his feet, aside from the large bandage that crept over his hand from under his sleeve.

“He’ll need someone on him at all times. We’ll rotate. Seungmin, you’re first.”

“Great. Babysitting duty. Fuck this.” He whined, though he seemed to know better than to argue any further than that as he followed his brothers in the direction of the basement.

Though the very presence of a basement here came as nothing but a surprise to you. Which really, it shouldn’t have, considering the sheer size of the place. It stood to reason that an estate as large and old as this would house a modicum of areas you had yet to see, even with all your exploration.

The other brothers aside from Chan and Minho went about their own business, trooping out of the hall and going their separate ways, just as you were about to before Felix turned, spinning you to face him.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly, tucking the strands of hair from your face.

“I’m fine, Lix.” You smiled, though you were sure he’d notice how forced it was.

“See you got your necklace back.” He smirked, raising an eyebrow at you knowingly. “Have you spoken to Minho yet?”

“Uh… w- well, kinda? Not really. I mean, we spoke, b- but-”

“Hey, don’t worry. I’m sorry for prying. I just… I worry, you know?”

You did know. You knew that Felix’s intentions were always born of pure gold, just like he seemed to be himself. And despite the fact that you hadn’t outwardly told him of your worries, your concerns or the confusions you were laden with, he still seemed to know exactly what it was that plagued you.

You found yourself growing more grateful for that every day.

“I’m here if you need me. _When_ you need me.”

The notion that you would need him wasn’t a question of if, you supposed that’s why he’d corrected himself. Because you would, when things surely went wrong. You saw no peaceful solution, no reasonable outcome to this triangle you found yourself in.

He placed a chaste kiss to your forehead, giving your shoulders an affectionate squeeze before he released you, sauntering past Minho and Chan who had been watching that whole encounter with locked jaws. A smug smile at each of them, and he was gone.

Leaving you, alone with them.

You held your breath, eyes darting between them, unsure of which way to go. Unsure of what to say, or do.

The air felt fit to crackle, Chan taking a single step towards you before Minho moved first, though he appeared to be leaving the room.

Yet he stopped at your side, your senses on high alert as he leaned in to your ear, his voice just low enough that Chan wouldn’t be able to hear. His sheer proximity made you giddy, your hands forming to fists in front of you.

“That guy’s not the only one who reeks, slut. I hope you enjoyed yourself.”

And with that, he shoved past you, leaving you dazed on the spot.

You were foolish to think you’d get away with it. Ignorant to think he wouldn’t notice.

And laden with yet another regret.

* * *

##### Chan loathed this place.

With every fibre of his being, he’d vowed never to set foot in it upon his first discovery all those years ago, when they’d initially moved in to the estate.

It had been a simple feeling, more than anything else. An aura that the place expelled, the cold stone walls and damp cobbled floor seeming to speak of tales more sordid than even Chan himself could conjure up. The mere presence of the cells, stowed away in the darkened basement, posed a number of questions that Chan could only speculate as to the answers, perhaps most prominent among them being the need for their existence at all.

Why would such a grand place need these kinds of holdings?

He shuddered at the thought. Though he wasn’t naive to their potential uses, always being one to second guess the good nature of people, because past events dictated that he’d be stupid not to.

For the most part, the cells went long forgotten by him and his brothers. Untouched and unused, which Chan supposed he could consider a blessing.

Until now.

“Are they tight enough?” Jeongin grunted, fastening one of the iron links to the intruders’ wrist while Changbin secured the other.

The restraints had come with the cells, bolted into the mossy walls, no more than a foot in length. They hadn’t been something Chan felt the need to install as an addition or otherwise. At the time, he’d been unsettled by their presence, yet now, he was grateful for them.

Whatever the previous owners were inclined towards that required such things, Chan felt it was largely irrelevant. Because as eerie as the place was, the walls didn’t talk, and the chains didn’t erode, so it would have been remiss of him not to utilise them.

And as an added bonus, it offered safety in the form of space. He didn’t view the intruder, nor Dion himself as any major threat, if he were to be truthful about it. But for his brothers, and for her, he concluded it was better to keep these things as separate as he could. As secluded as he could.

The morbid basement was nothing if not that.

“You’re good for the first watch, right?” Chan called, glancing at Seungmin through his peripherals, who by all accounts, was still seething as the edges.

“Fine.”

It was a deadpan reply, a minimal one. And nowhere near enough for Chan.

“Listen.” He sighed, dropping his shoulders in defeat. “I know you’re not happy about any of this. I know it could have been avoided, and you’re right. We did know this was coming, that _something_ was coming. But don’t mistake my caution for ignorance, Seungmin. Being hot-headed and jumping to conclusions is exactly what got us into this mess in the first place.”

Seungmin cocked his head, a single eyebrow raised in questioning.

“With Dion? Or the girl?”

That hadn’t been the response he’d expected, but he supposed he shouldn’t have been too shocked by it.

“You think I was hot-headed with her?” He asked, wondering where he was taking this.

“No.” Seungmin mused, shoving his hands to his pockets. “I don’t think you were to begin with. You acted as I know you to act. Careful and clever. As much as I hated it at the time, in hindsight I believe you were right to keep her captive. It was the easiest way of avoiding WAHVA’s eye, while still keeping her alive. Would have done us no good if she’d turned up dead.”

“Well I’m glad you agree-”

“But I think you are now.” He interrupted, his face expressionless.

“Think I’m what?”

“Hot-headed. Reckless. That little performance in the hall? That wasn’t for our benefit. Every one of us knows that your interest in her goes past the platonic by now. Minho too. The pair of you froth at the mouths whenever she’s around, and if she doesn’t carry your scent, she carries his. It’s painful.”

Words caught in Chan’s throat, his eyes widening for a moment.

“I don’t resent you for falling in love, or whatever the hell it is you’re feeling,” he continued, his tone low, “nor Minho. But I resent you for not thinking straight where she’s concerned. Dion is the perfect example.”

“Dion was a threat to us-”

“No. He wasn’t. He was a threat to _her_. And in your blindness Chan, you started something that can’t be stopped. So _now_ Dion’s a threat to us. _Now_ he’s got us in his sights, and all we’ll end up being is collateral damage.”

Chan shook his head, a thousand retorts hanging from the tip of his tongue. Yet every rebuttal, every excuse he could think of fell utterly short, because he knew. He knew Seungmin to be right on every account.

They’d been living under the shadow of WAHVA ever since their establishment, their initial attraction and the appeal that seemed too good to be true, proving to be just that. They were used to it, primed for it even, ready at any moment for an Envoy to turn up at the door with another contract or baseless promises of compensation for their involvement in the volunteer programmes.

Yet the outward threat of another vampire clan? Chan supposed this could be the first time they’d ever been subjected to that, and as Seungmin had pointed out, it was through his haste, his overwhelming urge to protect the girl, that a new enemy had emerged.

His head was spinning with the direction of the pointing finger. Where the blame would land. Who deserved it, even.

He couldn’t tell anymore.

“I won’t let that happen.” He muttered, his teeth gritting in resolve.

Seungmin hummed in response, his inflection indicating he had no idea which point Chan was addressing.

“Collateral damage. Spilled blood. I won’t allow it, Seungmin. Not of ours, or hers. You want me to take responsibility? Want me to stop being reckless?”

His jaw locked, his shoulders squared with newfound purpose. He’d been dancing around this for too long. Perhaps it was time he be the leader they were acting like they needed.

“Chan, I just-”

He raised a single hand to the younger, silencing him before he could finish.

“You’ve seen nothing yet.”

* * *

##### The last time he’d seen his hands this stained, had been the last time he’d indulged his more wicked inclinations.

A lifetime ago, he supposed.

He’d remind himself this was for the good of the clan, for their protection and safety. That the damnation of his soul was worth it, if it meant they got to survive this whole thing. Not that he ever believed he stood a chance of redemption.

Sending Seungmin away from his watch over the creature had been the precursor. The telling moment for Chan, when he was left alone with it, as to just how far he was prepared to go to do what needed to be done. To be the leader they supposedly needed.

“I’ll ask you one more time.” He hissed, taking the handle of the ice pick between his fingertips.

Perhaps this was overkill. The intruder looked set to pass out at any second with his first working over, which mainly consisted of a beating at Chan’s worn hands while he remained chained at the wrists and slumped in his chair. Yet with vampire healing abilities and their tendency to be sturdy at the best of times, they made for arduous torture victims.

And there was no end to Chan’s creativity today.

He held the piercing tip of the ice pick above the vampire’s left knee, along the seam of the joint cap. His movements slow and exaggerated, he reached for the hammer atop the silver cart that he’d reeled in. It was laden with tools and equipment that could do real damage, if wielded correctly and with the right intent. Seemed that kitchen refurbish really had been worth it.

Taking the hammer in hand, he shot another questioning glance at the intruder.

“Do you, or do you not, work for Dion?”

The vampire coughed and spluttered, the split on his lip and the gash above his swollen eye rendering him dazed, though not useless. Yet.

“Y- You… you’re _fucked_ … all of you-”

“That’s not what I asked.” Chan spat, positioning the hammer atop the handle of the ice pick, primed to knock.

“I don’t want to do this,” he warned, catching the intruder’s line of sight, “don’t make me. Just tell me what I want to know, and you’re out of here. It’s simple.”

He shook his head, rasps of laughter choking from his throat, from his bloodied lips.

“I know… I’m not l- leaving here alive. So just _do_ it.”

Uncooperative wasn’t what Chan needed right now. He could only hope this would bring him around.

He shrugged nonchalantly, raising the hammer several centimetres to the air.

And with one sharp, swift smack, he struck the top of the ice pick.

The yelp that followed was billowing, the splintering crack of his knee cap being promptly removed from the socket almost enough to send Chan into a daze of sickness. Yet he remained firm, retracting the thin, spiny tool from his flesh, from the open wound he’d created that seeped fresh blood to the cobbled floor.

“The way I see it,” Chan grimaced, swiping the bloodied tool over the trousers over the beaten vampire, “you’ve don’t have much of a choice. You see, this is all just routine now. We _know_ you came from Dion, we could smell you a mile off. We _know_ you were sent here to scout us out, size up the place and report back on our defences, or lack of them. What did you hope to find, hm? A secret way in? An open window? Is Dion that spineless that he can’t walk up to our front door and fucking knock?”

“D- Dion… Dion will _end_ you and your rat brothers-” He whimpered, tears rolling free from his glazed eyes.

Yet Chan had the confirmation he needed. And a little riling up and the removal of a knee cap was all it took.

“So you are Dion’s goon. How many are there?” Chan quizzed, once again positioning the ice pick over the knee of the good leg.

The vampire’s eyes widened, exclamations of panic bubbling to his throat.

“H- How many what?!”

“How many lackeys? Foot soldiers? Men?” Chan yelled, raising the hammer preemptively, though it seemed that this time, he wouldn’t need to go through with it. Perhaps he just needed to keep up the act. “How many people does Dion have coming for us?”

“I… I don’t know.” The vampire writhed, shaking his head.

To which Chan raised the hammer further, his grip on the defiled pick tightening.

“W- Wait! Wait! I- I don’t know for s- sure… Maybe forty? Fifty? F- Fuck… I- I don’t _know_ … P- Please…”

His words trailed off into sobs and tremors of misery, clearly having reached his limit on what he could take. Once again, Chan wanted to damn himself for having to resort to such tactics, but if he were being truthful about it, if he _really_ owned up to the nagging voice inside his head that pushed him a little bit further, goaded him a little bit harder, he could admit to finding a semblance of morbid joy in it.

Perhaps he was grateful after all, that their allures didn’t work on fellow vampires. Seungmin’s ability would have ended this far too quickly.

“What is he planning? What does he want from us?” Chan finally asked, maintaining his hold on the tools, though he had marginally relaxed with the flowing of information.

“He… He wants… Wants the pup.”

Chan froze, his grip on the ice pick waning just enough that it tilted aside. His breath caught in his throat, his fears and suspicions being marked as true proving to be more daunting than he’d first thought.

The vampire leered forwards with Chan’s apparent hesitation, grabbing at the opportunity while he could. A lazy, too wide grin crossed his beaten face, strings of blood hanging loose from his lips.

“The thing you claim is _yours_ , that you escaped with. Wants to kill it, right in front of you.”

Chan swallowed thickly, his palms running clammy at the prospect.

“He’ll probably take it first though.” The vampire sneered, seeming too thrilled by the prospect, pushing at the limits of Chan’s ability to remain in control. “For everyone to s- see. Make you watch as he splits it in half, ruins it while it begs and cries like the heated bitch it is.”

Seething rage bubbled beneath the surface of his demeanour, the tools dropping from his hands with a distinct clatter as they fell to the floor of the cell.

“Your brothers will be next… Torn limb from limb, fed to the pigs, every one of them.”

Another guffawing, curdled laugh ripped from the vampires’ throat, visions of the threats it spoke of playing behind Chan’s very eyes.

“You think I stink?” He heaved, further poking at Chan’s limits. “You’re _ridden_ with the f- fetid odour of human cunt, you pathetic f- _fucking_ -”

Yet Chan saw red. A fogging cloud of unadulterated blood lust and the urge to protect that which he held dear, for fear of losing everything again. Any way he could.

His body moved before his mind could register it, his two strong hands taking hold of the vampire’s neck. The thing did nothing but cackle and guffaw, his breaths constricting and breaking with the crushing grip of Chan’s fingers digging to the flesh.

Chan tensed, every part of his body acting on instinct as he stood slowly, moving between the vampire’s legs. His grip intensified, the latent strength he held inside him taking effect, coursing through his veins and muscles with the onslaught of emotion.

A gradual pull, a strung out, exerting drag of the vampire’s neck began to tear flesh from flesh, the creature’s exclamations of humour gargling into a cacophony of blood and offal. Yet Chan didn’t see it, behind the red hue of his vision. All he saw were images of her, in the arms of Dion, weak and helpless as he drained the life from her. As he defiled her in unspeakable ways, ways that the dying thing beneath him had alluded to only seconds before. Then his brothers, restrained and frantic, their lives being snuffed out, one by one.

It was too much. It had to be stopped. He had to stop it.

An endless stream of blood, pints of the warm substance coated his lower half as the head gave way from the shoulders, strings of broken skin, muscle and sinew escaping somewhere in the mess. Chan cried out in defiance, a hair raising bellow that was sure to attract the attention of his brothers and indeed anyone for miles around, the sound echoing off the walls of the dingy basement and grisly cell, reverberating through the cast iron bars.

And there was not a trace of regret in him.

Not as he lifted the twitching head of the creature to his eye level, not as he gazed at the dull, black irises of the vampire he’d just killed, the first one of his kind. Not as he seemed to return to himself, senses and awareness reawakening with the death he was faced with.

Reckless. Hot-headed. Blind.

That was what Seungmin had called him. But Chan thought him to be wrong. He thought him to be falling woefully short of what he was now.

Murderous. Dangerous.

A killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	18. Chapter 18

##### It would have been only seconds.

Seconds Chan had spent in the basement of the estate, with the lifeless corpse of the vampire he’d all but mutilated beside him.

Yet they were the longest seconds of Chan’s unending life.

He didn’t remember the yell, the vocal demonstration of rage and defiance he’d expelled when committing the atrocity he had, but it was clearly enough to garner the attention of his brother. Not the one he’d wanted to see, in that moment, though Chan supposed he couldn’t afford to be picky.

Not right now.

“Fucking _hell_ … Chan?” Minho stammered, his rushed steps ceasing altogether as he charged into the basement to be greeted by the grisly scene.

Chan held his head in his bloodied hands, his knees drawn up to his chest as he’d quickly retreated to the corner of the macabre cell on the realisation of what he’d done, when the rage had subsided and the fog had cleared to a raw truth.

Minho clamped his hand to his mouth, the clear stench of blood and gore seeping into his nose before he had the chance to prevent it. More than any thirst or penchant for blood being sparked, he was awash with the nausea that only this kind of scene could bring. A clear demonstration of unhinged anger, the aftermath of a catastrophic lapse in better judgement.

It would have been enough to drive the most pious of vampires to blood lust.

Yet Minho had more control than that. Chan himself had more control, though he’d just starkly failed in exercising it.

Chan steeled himself, glancing down at the head of the creature he’d killed. The head that had been firmly separated from the shoulders it once rested on, ripped by his very own hands. He knew the onslaught of questioning would follow, the exclamations of horror and surprise, the looks on the faces of his brothers when they saw him to be the monster Chan surely believed he was.

But that didn’t come.

Instead, he was accosted with Minho’s guidance, his brother yanking him to his feet sharply.

“We need to get this thing out of here.” He rambled, sweeping his hand through his fiery tresses. “If the others see it, they’ll panic.”

Chan shook his head, mild disbelief taking over.

“Aren’t you… going to ask me what happened?” He mumbled.

“Would you even tell me?”

Chan blinked, supposing that he wouldn’t under any other circumstance. He’d largely kept his motivations to himself until now, but that was before.

Before her.

“I… I killed him,” Chan breathed, taking hold of his brothers’ arm, “in cold blood. He… He told me what Dion was planning.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, clearly needing an explanation.

“He wants _her_ , Minho. Seungmin was right, this is a point of principle for him now. The things he told me… things he’s going to do to her, I-”

“Chan.” Minho interrupted, holding his trembling brother by the shoulders. “None of that is going to happen. Whatever it was, whatever threats he made, they’re nothing more than that. Empty threats.”

“But he’s got the numbers. Forty, maybe fifty strong… They’re all coming.”

Minho’s eyes widened, though only for a moment before he was back to his usual calm demeanour.

“Doesn’t matter. He could outnumber us ten to one, and we’d still fight them off. They can’t all be vampires, right? Some of them will be human, and in those cases, we use our allures. Subdue them, manipulate, get them to switch sides, whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes?” Chan repeated, his gaze dropping to the mutilated body on the floor.

Minho took a deep breath, meeting Chan at his eye level.

He didn’t need to know specifics, the ins and outs of the morbid threats the vampire goon had made before his untimely demise. He’d heard stories enough of Dion, some even from Chan himself, as to his inclinations and tendencies towards violence in all its’ creative forms.

Both he and Chan were familiar enough with Dion to know that he’d make good on his promises, to know that the chances of his threats and acts of debauchery coming to fruition were unfairly likely.

Yet with the way Chan was shaking, trembling under his hands with eyes not unlike that of a drowning deer, Minho supposed the revelations had come all too quickly for him. Had he been of a less than sympathetic mood, he’d have told Chan to own up to this. To push down the feelings of dread and remorse for what he’d done to one of his own, however much they’d deserved it, and to face the murderous part of him he’d rediscovered. That had been teasing at the edges of release since that night at the club. For he could use it. Control it, given enough time and patience.

Though those were things neither of them could afford under the circumstances.

And so until Chan recovered, until he’d returned to a state of his former self, Minho would take charge.

He would play the part of leader, pick up the slack and coordinate things, even just for a little while. He’d feign an act of confidence, and fake it until he made it.

It’s what he’d been doing for as long as he could remember, anyway.

“Trust me. They will _not_ get her. Not any of us. I won’t allow it.”

“She can’t know,” Chan breathed, his eyes wild with panic. “She can’t know that he wants her. What he plans to do with her. Minho, it’ll break her-”

“She won’t.” Minho stated, his tone stern, shoulders squared.

“She’ll never know.”

* * *

##### After the events that had taken place in the main hall of the estate, you could safely say that you were feeling less than positive in general, and more than confused about everything else.

Since Minho had caught the intruder, you’d had a deep pool of tension in your stomach, a nagging feeling in your gut that you simply couldn’t shake through any rational thought or distraction.

Your rendezvous with Chan in the library had eased it for a while, you could admit, his presence and touch soothed the worries you held. But with his time now otherwise occupied in the form of questioning the vampire in the basement cells, it rendered him off limits for the foreseeable.

Of course, there was another you wanted to see. That you desperately wanted to clear the air with, to apologise and run into the arms of, and it was driving you near mad with the notion that you were the last person he wanted to be faced with after what you’d done.

The first time, you supposed Minho could forgive. He seemed like he’d been prepared to, given that you weren’t physically able to be in the same space as him without your necklace, leading to the growing affection you’d experienced for his brother and the night you’d spent with him as a result. It had been as natural to you as it was inevitable for him, and you hoped he knew that.

The second time, however, had been different.

Minho had been different. Bitter.

You could only imagine how you must have smelled to him, the moment you’d walked into the stained glass ceiling room. From across the space, he’d have been able to tell that you were laden with the scent of his brother, fresh from the throws of an orgasm at his hands. Every part of you, from your clothes to your tussled hair, collected with Chan.

If it were you, you’d have torn the room apart. If it were _you_ , you’d have screamed and cried, heartbroken in more ways than one that the person you’d kissed not an hour before had willingly given themselves to someone else.

If it were you…?

You concluded that you had no right to begrudge Minho his hatred of you. It was deserved, and warranted, in almost every way.

Yet that didn’t make it any easier. Didn’t make you want him any less.

And now with the added threat of Dion and his lackeys, a looming danger lurking above your heads that would no doubt take precedence, you wondered if you’d ever get a chance to make things right with him. With Chan.

It would surely be a blessing if you did.

* * *

##### “Y/N, you in there?”

A firm rapping at your door tugged you from your thoughts, from the tales of the Aeneid that you’d been well and truly wrapped in since you’d resigned yourself to the surroundings of your room.

“Y- Yeah, come in.”

The door opened quickly, barely giving you time to recognise who made their way inside as you scrambled to the end of your bed, throwing the book aside.

Minho busied himself immediately, making a beeline for your wardrobe and swinging it open with too much force. He dragged the empty suitcase from the foot of it, kicking the lid aside and gathering your clothes in handfuls, launching them with little care or grace into the container.

“What the hell are you doing?” You called, rushing to his side.

“You’re leaving.” He replied, not giving you so much as a glance as he continued to pack your things for you.

You watched in horror, his words doing nothing but going over your head.

“L- Leaving? What do you mean _leaving_? Leaving this room? Leaving _here_? Minho, I don’t-”

“You’re out of here. Going home.”

He shoved you aside, moving to the chest of drawers that housed the rest of your clothes, tugging them open systematically.

“Wait, can you just stop?!” You exclaimed, using both hands to drag his arms from your furniture. He stilled for a moment, eyes sliding closed in exhaustion as he turned to face you.

“Just stop,” you repeated, your tone lower although you kept your hands on him, “tell me what’s happening. Is this… is this to do with the vampire? What did he say?”

He shook his head, taking a deep breath before his eyes reopened again, his crimson gaze dark and dull.

“He said enough,” he sighed, releasing the breath. “Enough for us to know it’s not safe anymore.”

“Not safe?” You repeated, cocking your head at him. “It’s as safe for me here as anywhere else, surely.”

“No.”

“Are they coming here? Is that why it’s not safe? But we knew that might happen Minho, we were ready for it!”

“We’re not ready, we’re nowhere _near_ ready for the numbers they have-”

“Then we’ll get ready, together.” You appealed, tightening your grip on his sleeve. “There’s safety in numbers! Or we’ll just give them what they want and-”

“We can’t do that.” He interrupted abruptly, his eyes flashing.

“But why?! It’d avoid bloodshed-”

“Just listen to me, Y/N! Just _once_ , do as I fucking ask you!” He bellowed, shrugging your hands off him.

You froze in place, jaw hanging slack with the outburst of anger. He turned away from you, running his hands through his red tresses in desperation.

“I don’t have time to play your back and forth anymore. My clan, my brothers, _they’re_ what comes first, and we’re sitting ducks as we are. So you need to go, and we need to get our shit together.”

Your stomach ran taut with anxiety, your heart pounding in your chest, and you knew the reasons for that to be plentiful.

Minho’s harsh words being the first and foremost, you were sure. He was right, of course, on almost every account.

His brothers did come first, just as they always had, and you would never have dreamed of rebuking him for that. It simply wasn’t your place to. Yet the bite with which he’d said it, the implication that you weren’t a part of the things that came first for him, that you were just as much an outsider as when you’d first arrived, hurt far more than you’d anticipated.

Secondly, was the latent anxiety that his apparent haste brought. How dire must the situation be for them to feel that their own home, this naturally fortified estate, wasn’t safe enough for them, with their strength and teamwork?

Yet even aside from all that, you found yourself worrying about easily the most trivial thing of all.

That you didn’t want to go. You didn’t want to leave this place, or this clan.

For your prison had unwittingly become your home.

“I… I can’t leave, Minho. I can help if I’m here. There must be something I can do, I can fight!”

“You think you can fight?” He retorted, shutting down your appeals without a second thought. “A gang of blood drunk vampires and doped up humans? You honestly think there’ll be a single damn thing you can do, when it comes down to it?”

“I-”

“You had your chance back at the club, to defend yourself. And you couldn’t. Chan and the others had to do it for you, and so here we are.”

“I was unarmed, that’s not fair Minho.”

“Life’s not fair,” he spat, returning to the haphazard chest of drawers, “but we deal with it all the fucking same.”

You hesitated before the next obvious problem presented itself, yet you couldn’t keep it silent. The whole reason for your entire captivity here hadn’t gone away, and you were starkly aware of that.

“So does this mean you trust me now?”

Minho blinked, his shoulders raising just an inch.

“You’re letting me go,” you continued, hardly believing that he seemed surprised, “so that must mean you don’t think I’m a threat anymore, right? That I won’t run to WAHVA the first chance I get with all your little secrets?”

“Are you going to?” He asked, his tone cool.

You scoffed in disbelief, the sheer audacity of the question telling you a hundred different things.

“Do you honestly think I’d do that to you? To the others?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve fucked _me_ over,” he snarled, “but I at least trust that you care for my brothers enough to keep that mouth shut.”

A silence settled in, a palpable tension in the air that was riddled with things you wanted to say. Things he wanted to say. Unfinished business coupled with a crackling of resentment, on both sides.

Yet you saw no point. What would it achieve, if you were to drag up all the other problems between you in this moment? More anger? More thorns in the side for the two of you, one prepared to grovel while the other remains stalwart in their hatred?

It would do no good, you knew.

And so, you fought back the tears that pricked at your eyes, shoving him out of your way with both hands, as hard as you could.

It had no effect, as expected, yet he took the blatant hint nonetheless. Stepped out of your path, turning his back to you as you took over his ministrations, his frantic packing of your clothes.

“Jisung will take you home. You’re to stay there.” He muttered, his voice barely a whisper. “Consider this an unofficial house arrest.”

You neglected a response, not trusting what would come out of your mouth in that moment.

Your heart ached, your chest rife with a splitting pain that could only be likened to the feeling of it breaking. If several weeks ago, someone were to tell you that your freedom being granted would result in this kind of lamentation, you’d never have believed them. For it was ludicrous.

Yet it was real, as real as anything you’d ever felt, and as your bedroom door swung closed behind Minho, leaving you alone with your clamouring thoughts and urge to scream, you allowed the tears to fall.

And you were sure they would just be the beginning.

* * *

##### “You ready, princess?”

True to form, Jisung had arrived not long after Minho’s exit, clad in his usual attire of a hoodie three sizes too big and sweats that clung to his lithe legs. Even from across the room, you could see the glistening to his eyes, the sadness that hung heavy in them, and it did nothing to ease your own.

“I’m ready.” You smiled as best you could, hooking your duffel bag to your shoulder and grabbing your suitcase from the floor.

And just as he had before, he rushed to your side before you could complain, stealing the suitcase from your trembling hands.

A gentle nod between you indicated your gratitude and his willingness to help, and you immediately missed it. You’d grown so accustomed to having him around, you wondered how you’d get through the day without seeing his smile or hearing his songs from down the hall.

You followed him out all the same, your vision blurring with every step down the corridor, out of the East Wing and down towards the main hall. The silence was thick, not filled with Jisung’s usual chatter or exclamations of excitement, and you were almost grateful that he hadn’t tried to put up that front with you. It made you feel better, in a way, to know that he seemed to be as upset with this whole thing as you were, because it meant something.

It meant your time here, had been worth it. It was valued. _You_ , were valued.

He pushed open the door to the main hall, and his pace slowed almost immediately as he stepped inside.

Because he knew. He knew how much you loved this room, through the many times he’d caught you simply leaning over the balcony railing, admiring the stunning stained glass ceiling until the ache in your neck won over and you took up new position on one of the many sofas. You’d spent hours, far too much time, you were sure, picking out the colours of the rainbow that shone through it.

He knew this would be the last time you’d get the chance.

Ever grateful, you took the opportunity as he’d granted it, strolling around the second floor balcony with him, gaze locked to the window above you. It remained just as beautiful as the first time you’d seen it, as stalwart and true, as if nothing had happened at all. It could be considered the one constant in this place, if you were to think about it. Unchanging. Unaffected.

You approached the stairs, Jisung taking your hand and leading you down them as you brought your attention back to earth, and the sight that awaited you on the ground floor, at the foot of the staircase, was enough to send a breath catching in your throat.

The vampires you’d grown to know, and indeed, love.

They waited in various positions, some on the sofas, some reclining against the walls or in the corners of the grandiose room. You couldn’t help but be reminded of the first time you’d seen them, in this very same room, stood in this very same spot. Yet now, there was a notable difference.

In the way they looked at you. The atmosphere of comfort and regret, for a number of things that you could only begin to speculate at.

And Felix was the first to move.

He stood from his spot on the sofa, meeting you at the end of the stairs with a laden smile on his face. In his hand, was an item you knew to be familiar, yet you almost couldn’t recall the last time you’d seen it. You didn’t think you ever would again.

“Here.” He muttered, holding out your old tool belt over both his hands.

It was just as you’d left it, with your weapons and anti-vampire tools equipped to it. The aspen stake and your silver handcuffs, the small, blood filled glass vial that you knew to be stowed in one of the many pouches it carried.

You dropped your bag from your shoulder, holding yours arms aside as he wrapped it to your waist, securing the gadgets and hooks at various positions before he did the front buckle up deftly.

His hands found your shoulders after he’d finished, an expression of sympathy laced to his features.

“I’ll miss you,” he rasped, blinking rapidly for fear of tears, “you’ll never know how much.”

You nodded knowingly, doing much the same with your eyes as you sunk your teeth to your bottom lip, an effort to stop yourself from breaking down.

In such a short time, Felix had become a rock of support for you. A pillar of safety and guidance, one that you’d never expected to come across in human form or otherwise. A friend, through and through, in simple terms.

He took you in his arms, inhaling deeply as he embraced you. It was too brief, too desperately sad for you to appreciate, and you were left with only regret as he released his hold on you, stalking away before it got any harder.

Hyunjin was next, quietly accompanied by Jeongin, who gave you varying versions of goodbyes that were just as heartfelt as Felix’s. Changbin interrupted them, shoving his way between them as though he’d miss his chance if he lingered in the corner any longer, and you couldn’t help the small laugh that warranted.

“This isn’t the last time you’ll see us, curious kitty.” He’d promised, shortly after refusing your hug, though you were almost positive that was down to the effect his touch would bring. How different things were now.

You could only hope his reassurances weren’t for nothing.

Seungmin followed after, an abrupt handshake and exclamation of mild regret at your departure, and despite the awkward tension of the moment, you appreciated it all the same.

And as everyone had made their well wishes known, you took a brief moment to look around.

Perhaps it was naive of you to hope that the other two would be here. That they’d want to wish you goodbye at all, much less see you out of the building. Your departure would no doubt give them a myriad of reliefs, for as they say, when things are out of sight, they are firmly out of mind.

You didn’t think that would be the case for you.

Because even as Jisung ushered you through the main hall, your final waves and exclamations of farewell lingering behind you, even as he took you through the abandoned main entrance, across the lavish red carpet and out to the large stone staircase that prefaced their heavy front door, even as he fished the keys of your long unseen car out of his pocket, clambering into the driver’s seat and setting off down the gravelled road, you realised something that perhaps was coming too late.

That the girl who was leaving here, was not the same as the one who had arrived, all that time ago.

She wasn’t careful or suspicious, nor frightened of the things that lurked in the depths of those darkened corridors and dusty rooms, in the grand spires that were fading from the view of the rear mirror.

She was simply broken. Caught in regret and persecution.

You knew if you were to boil things down to their most simple, to their rawest forms, you would end up at much the same conclusion.

That you were helplessly, irrevocably in love with two vampires who would never need you the same way.

So they may remain out of your sight, for as long as it would take for the storm to pass and the danger to be quelled.

But they would never, not with the best will in the world nor through the force of something supernatural, be etched from your mind.

* * *

##### “Are we almost there?”

Jisung asked, grunting with exertion as he heaved your laden suitcase over the last top steps.

“Almost.” You laughed, rushing back to help him before he toppled over. “Just down the hall, okay?”

You were putting up a front with him, and had been the whole drive back. As much as you were grateful for his initial silence and apparent respect with the whole thing, you’d gradually approached the point where the misery ridden tension had threatened to drive you mad, and with several tens of miles yet to go, you’d switched on the radio just for something to break it.

Jisung, in all his intuition, had caught on fairly quickly.

So you’d chatted the rest of the way, acting as if nothing was wrong. As if you weren’t breaking at the seams, and as if he was simply giving you a lift home from a friends’ place or an afternoon date.

It was profoundly strange.

You approached your front door, craning to your tiptoes in an effort to grab the spare key from the top frame. A mild sigh of relief as you happened across it, as occurred every time with the mild fear that it wouldn’t be there, and you deftly unlocked it, stepping over the threshold to your studio apartment.

The first time you’d come back, when Minho had brought you to collect clothes and personal effects, you’d been awash with a sense of comfort and familiarity the moment you’d set foot inside. It had been a true home return, in almost every way.

Now, it was nothing but alien to you.

Despite being very much the same way you’d left it aside from the piling of mail that decorated your welcome mat, everything appeared foreign. Off. Like it had been replaced with identical copies of the things you used to love and know, even though you knew that to be far from the case.

Because it wasn’t your surroundings that were different.

It was you.

A gentle cough from the hall reminded you that Jisung was still very much in need of an invitation if you ever hoped to get the rest of your luggage inside, and so you gave him just that.

“Come in, Ji. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He smiled, waving off the apology as he dragged himself inside, kicking the door closed behind him. “I’m sure this must be weird for you.”

You shook your head gently, taking your suitcase from him and slinging it to the foot of your unmade, unkempt bed.

“It’s not. Just everything happened so fast I haven’t really had time to breathe, you know?”

Jisung cocked his head, an expression of sympathy laced to his features.

“You can tell me,” he sighed, shoving his hands to the pocket of his huge hoodie, “if you’re struggling. I know I am.”

“Why would you be struggling?” You asked, throwing yourself to your sofa with too much nonchalance for it to be anything but forced. “Surely me being out of there is a relief for you all. I’m not in your way now.”

Jisung followed, making his way over and sliding gracefully into the space next to you.

“You know that’s not true. It didn’t start on good terms, but we’ve loved having you around. We love _you_.” He remarked, fiddling with the frills on one of your cushions.

Your heart swelled, the urge to cry presenting itself all over again. Jisung and his damn affections.

“Some of us more than others.”

Yet your head snapped up with his words, eyes widening before they relaxed almost immediately. Of course Jisung knew. They all did, and you were loathe to let that fact keep surprising you.

“Do you… Do you think I’m stupid?” You asked, head hung low to avoid his gentle crimson gaze, though you couldn’t be sure why.

“Yes.” He laughed, yet it wasn’t cruel. “Falling for a vampire is one thing, but falling for two? Can’t say I approve.”

You released a laugh of exasperation along with him, knowing him to be right, because he always was.

“There’s no way it’s going to work out, is there?”

He shrugged in response, pursing his lips.

“You might be surprised. If I know the elders at all, I know them to be tenacious. Fiercely protective, especially when it comes to things they love.”

“You think they love me?”

“I think they do,” he replied, nodding gently, “but I don’t think they’d call it that. Vampire emotions are… hard to explain. Complicated.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, an indication that you wanted him to at least try, inasmuch as he could. He took a deep breath, crossing his legs under him and leaning forwards, his soft, dark locks falling over his eyes.

“For you… it’s love, right? You recognise it, you feel it, it might be different to how another human does, but you can at least attach the sentiment to the emotion, yeah?”

You nodded in response, listening intently.

“Well, for vampires… it’s different. Everything you feel, we feel it ten times more intensely. Love is something that we’ve transcended, if that makes any sense. It’s just so much more than that.” He explained, his eyes wide.

“So it’s… not love?” You asked, needing the clarification.

“No, it is. But it’s a deeper form of it,” he mused, pursing his lips once more, “like a connection that gives our long lives purpose… Think of it the way a boat is roped to its’ harbour. You take the rope away, the boat loses its’ tether. It drifts aimlessly in no particular direction, it has no home. There’s no end to the wandering. But when the rope holds it, it’s secure. Safe. It knows where it’s supposed to be, it won’t get lost in the storms when they come. Does that… make any sense? I’m doing such a bad job of this-”

“No, Jisung you’re not,” you soothed, patting his knee affectionately, “I think I get it. So you’re saying I’m the boat?”

He shook his head, taking your hand in his while he had the opportunity.

“No. You’re the rope. They’re tethered to _you_. What my brothers feel for you, I mean… I don’t want to make you feel bad, but I know it tears them apart. It’s the first time I’ve seen either of them like it, and I’ll admit that they’ve handled it fucking terribly.”

“I’m not entirely innocent either, Ji. I know I’m the reason they’re so cold with each other. I hate myself for it.”

“You shouldn’t. Really.” He soothed, returning your earlier sentiment. “I know you didn’t ask for this. Your involvement with us, the business with Dion, the attentions from my brothers… These things just happen.”

You held his gaze for a moment, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t deserve his gentle nature, his kind words or his reassurances, and it baffled you to no end that he thought you did.

“Why are you so good to me?” You asked, the thoughts manifesting as the question. “I turned your lives upside down. I know you say I didn’t ask for this, but neither did you.”

Jisung shrugged, a soft smile gracing his lips.

“Do I need a reason?” He retorted, patting your hand affectionately. “Maybe I just like you. Maybe I’m grateful that you turned things upside down. Vampire life can be notoriously stagnant.”

You rolled your eyes at the dismissive answer, yet decided not to push. Whatever his reasons, whatever any of their reasons, you supposed they didn’t matter in the end. You knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I have this for you too.” He smiled, seeming to remember something with the end of his sentence.

You cocked your head in wonder, watching as he fished into the large pocket of his hoodie, retracting something from it.

He held it out in the palm of his hand, and the lump in your throat only hardened.

A miniature wax rose. The impromptu sculpture Chan had crafted for you, all those nights ago on that quiet evening in the library.

You reached out to take it, noting the way it was warm to touch. You handled it as a demo expert handles their explosives, careful and trembling, not wanting to crease so much as a sliver of the crafted wax, though you could already tell it had slipped at the edges, no doubt a result of Jisung’s pocket warmth.

“You left it behind in your room.” He muttered, watching your reaction carefully. “I figured you’d want it, so…”

You could do nothing but nod, placing the small item on your coffee table, the keepsake that you’d no doubt cherish for so much time to come. You could barely believe you’d been so careless as to forget it, and endlessly grateful that Jisung hadn’t been.

More silence settled in, before he eventually spoke the words you’d dreaded to hear.

“I, uh… I should get going. The others will want me back.”

You fought back more tears as he stood from the sofa, giving your hand one last affectionate squeeze before he let it go. You got up with him, walking him to the door, the air just as heavy as it had been when you’d left the estate, fraught with sadness.

He pulled it open, about to step over the threshold once more before you tugged at his hoodie, stopping him in his tracks.

You choked on the words, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

“Thank you,” you stammered, tears rolling free despite yourself, “for everything. It’s not enough, I know, but I just… Thank you.”

Jisung inhaled sharply, either about to say something or burst into tears before he threw his arms around you, tugging you to his chest.

His warmth embraced you, the scent of soft vanilla and clean linen flooding your senses, only wrenching your heart all the more as you came to realise this would be the last time you were privy to his familiar smell. The last time he got to comfort you, or ease you of your worries.

He rocked you gently, your fingers curling to his hoodie, your tears dampening the material as you allowed yourself a moment of weakness in his arms.

For it would be the only one you’d get, after he left you alone. You couldn’t afford to do this again, for your own sanity.

“Hush, princess,” he cooed, gentle strokes at the back of your head, “all of this will pass.”

You sobbed quietly, burying your face into his form, as if to hide from the fears and stresses that plagued you, that quipped at you from your shoulders.

“It’ll pass.” He whispered once more, his own voice tinged with worry, despite his efforts.

“It has to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	19. Chapter 19

##### Left alone in the darkness of your studio apartment, you found yourself unable to shake the lingering dread that had made itself a home in you.

Boredom had once claimed you during the lonely nights of your captivity in the vampire estate, and at the time you'd cursed it. You'd longed for the buzz of a radio, for the flicker of a television. Anything to stimulate and distract from the bleak reality of your situation.

Yet now you were in the supposed comfort of your own home, your usual routines appeared far from that. Thanks to your time away and in the company of vampires, it was clear that even the modern comforts and conveniences you'd been so accustomed to no longer offered any use.

How things had changed. How _you_ had changed.

Curled up in several blankets and surrounded by magazines on all sides of your unmade bed, you lamented not stowing away a book or two from the grand library. You missed the smell of the place, the musk and dust that had embedded itself in most every room you walked into. It was always more apparent in the library, speaking of secrets and untold adventures.

The nights you'd spent there, or the nights you'd snuck in and stolen a tale had proved to be some of your most entertaining, so much so that you'd been inclined to forget just how trapped you really were.

Although the distractions they held were merely a precursor to that feeling of content.

Over time, you'd settled. You became comfortable and complacent in your holdings, fully aware that you were doing so, yet made no move to stop it. You allowed it to happen.

You supposed this was your punishment.

That your much loved studio apartment was now alien to you.

The hours, days and weeks of work you'd put into making the place feel like home through laborious painting and decorating, furniture crafting and meticulous positioning, had been rendered meaningless. Because it simply didn't harbour any such feeling for you now. No comfort or familiarity, no safety, no pride for what you'd made it.

Pawing for your phone from somewhere beside you, you checked it for what felt the like thirteenth time that night, only for your heart to sink as you saw it devoid of any notifications at all. You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting.

You'd texted Sifer not long after Jisung's departure, supposing that getting in contact with WAHVA was one of the first things you needed to do. It hadn't surprised you in the least bit to see that you'd had no contact from him, not a message nor missed call, because that was just how these things worked.

You were expendable. Replaceable. And surely by now they were under the impression you'd been expended. You could well have even been replaced, you simply had no way of knowing.

Yet either way, you'd done your part, sending a quick message to Sifer to inform him of what he usually needed to know, for all the good it would do.

_[02:21] Y/N checking in. Unharmed and alive. Assigned family reject all avenues of contact with the Company, do not wish to uphold their contract. After discussions and in-depth interviews, advice is to stop all correspondence and attempts to renegotiate. Also advise looking into terms of the initial contract, breaches seem to have occurred on both sides. Mission failure._

And with no further clarification from Sifer or WAHVA either way, the distinct growling in your stomach presented a more pressing need.

Because despite how terrible you felt, you were sure that the lack of food and drink you'd consumed in the last however long was no doubt contributing to it. That was something that you could at least address, no matter what else was out of your hands.

And so, with the blanket wrapped around your bare shoulders, you dragged yourself from the bed, padding over to the kitchenette that made up one side of your apartment.

Pulling an arm from the confines of warmth, you tugged open the fridge firstly, only for your senses to be accosted with the most foul of smells.

Rotten fruit and vegetables, expired milk and mold covered meats created an abhorrently pungent stench in your appliance, and you all but slammed the door shut immediately, heaving with the odour that promptly permeated the air.

You dropped the blanket from your body, rushing over to the nearest window beside your bed. A few grunts of exertion and a firm push forced it open, and you were instantly glad of the midnight air that washed over you. It was a sharp awakening to say the least, and did more than you'd anticipated to clear the sense of dull haze that had settled in your head.

With the depressingly barren situation of your cupboards and soiled fridge, there seemed to you, to be only one immediate alternative.

Shivering with the mild chill of the outside breeze, you wandered over to the smaller mini-fridge tucked away in the corner of your sleeping space. You tugged open the door, using more force than you probably should have as the action threatened to tip the thing over, but you were awash with relief all the same.

For when all else fails, the drink never does. And thankfully, you'd left some here.

You reached inside, grabbing the bottle of wine and four pack of bottled beers that had somehow escaped your past indulgences, tucking them under your arms. You retrieved your blanket from the floor, your phone from the bed, and made a home for yourself on the sofa as best you could.

Cracking open one of the beers, you took a cautionary sniff from the mouth of the bottle before committing to its' taste, and much to your welcome, it appeared as drinkable as it would have been before. The distinct smell of gently bubbling hops was just enough to set your mouth to water, and you spared a flick of your eyes over the back label of the wine bottle as you took a single sip of the beer.

Perhaps mixing drinks was a bad idea.

Yet perhaps you truly, wholeheartedly, didn't care.

* * *

##### Your current mood was a surprise even to yourself.

You were fully prepared for the onslaught of depression and wild hysteria the alcohol would no doubt bring, more than willing to wallow in your misery and self-pity until the sun came up, and even after that.

Wondrously, it seemed to have almost the opposite effect.

To your blatant bewilderment, you'd been struck with a wave of inspiration, a burst of motivation after finishing your third beer, and indeed, you hadn't even needed to touch the wine before you'd shrugged off the blanket and hopped from the sofa, still clad in naught but your tank top and panties.

You'd fumbled around in one of the many trunks that lined your floors, removing containers from atop each other, flipping open the lids and scanning the contents before you moved on to the next one. You'd always neglected a categorising system of any sort, and you wanted to damn that laziness now in the pursuit of what you were looking for.

And that, essentially, boiled down to a small white box of nearly dried up oil paints, a collection of old paintbrushes, and an unused A2 sketchpad.

Eventually finding them in the fifth trunk you scoured, you'd positioned them in front of the sofa, pulling your constructed table as close as you could get it to allow for your activity. Drawing up a glass of water for the brushes to be cleaned, you placed it beside your pad, taking hold of one of the tools and wetting the end.

You had no goal in mind. No specific thing you wanted to paint, and it could be argued that you didn't even really like painting as an activity in itself at all, evidenced by the fact these things had been stored away for longer than you could remember.

It was a simple feeling. A need inside you to expel an emotion of some description or another, one that you couldn't be sure of until you saw the fruits of your unknown labour.

Black paint, to begin with.

You spun the pad around to a landscape orientation, dragging the brush around in two large ovals at either side of the page. There was no grace to your strokes, no care or particular attention as you were working from a deeper urge than you knew, and the next colour you found yourself seeking was red.

Deep red, you mixed it with a touch of black on the end of a new paintbrush, satisfied with the resulting colour as you began to round off a semicircle in the ovals you'd created.

Your fingers moved with a will of their own, the colours blending and seeping into the paper that on second thought, probably wasn't suitable for oil paints after all. Yet you continued your motions, circular and slow, your head tilting absently with the crimson that bled out from your brush.

It was therapeutic at the very least, the gentle buzz of the alcohol in your system causing a small smile to cross your lips as you mindlessly painted.

Perhaps you shouldn't have been surprised with the end result. What meaning it had, you couldn't be sure and wouldn't have wanted to speculate at, but as you looked at the mess of wet paint and crumpled paper before you, at the childlike image of a pair of crimson eyes staring back at you, your chest began to ache all over again.

You thought you'd dulled it enough.

With the new surge of pain came a deeper need for more alcohol, your hand reaching out on muscle memory to the place on the table you knew you'd left the bottle.

Only for it to be very much missing.

You snapped your head up, a creeping sensation of your hairs standing to end occurring before you could identify the reason. You tensed, breath hitching and stilling in your airway, the embrace of the outside air through your open window seeming to chill further, to pass quicker.

Something was different.

"Looking for this?"

The voice sent an immediate scream from your throat, too loud and too piercing. It was a direct product of the fright, you knew, yet helpless all the same as you whipped around in the direction of it. It was coming from behind you, from the corner beside your bed.

"Jesus, can you not?" The voice repeated as the figure you could only just make out in the dim light of your apartment, stepped out of the darkness that cloaked them.

"M- Minho...?"

Clad in his usual getup of leather trousers and black silk, he wore a thin choker around his neck that held lace detailing at the edges. Your bottle of half finished beer hung absently from his fingertips, which by all accounts, he was taking the liberty of finishing for you as he brought it up to his lips, taking a single deep chug.

"W- What-"

"What am I doing here?" He interrupted, sauntering towards you like he hadn't just nearly killed you off with the sudden appearance.

"I don't fucking know. So don't ask."

You shook your head in denial, watching with wide eyes as he slung himself in the space next to you, his perfectly swept red tresses not so much as a hair out of place. The sharp bridge of his nose, the subtle plump to his lips rendered your mouth dry.

He glanced down at the impromptu work of art on your table, his expression unreadable.

"I take it that’s not a self portrait?" He mused.

You didn’t answer.

He shrugged, neglecting to find whatever deeper meaning it all held, much to your relief.

"Bet you're regretting giving me that invite right about now, huh?" He took another swig from the bottle.

"I don't regret a damn thing, Minho."

That was a lie. A blatant one, one that you honestly thought he might see straight through. Yet if he did, he gave no indication.

"Cool it, kitten. I'm not here for round three."

"So what _are_ you here for, then? As I recall you couldn't get me out of the mansion fast enough."

"Would have been even faster if you hadn't insisted on packing yourself. Why _did_ you bring so much shit with you again?"

You narrowed your watering eyes at him, his avoidance of your question only exacerbating the pain in your chest.

It was always like this with him. Always would be, you were sure, for whatever amount of time you would know him for.

"I'm tired, Minho, and it's late," you mumbled, fighting back the strain to your voice. "If you're not here for another showdown, and you're not here for anything else, kindly do me a favour and go back to where you came from."

You stood from the sofa, about to stride past him when cold fingers wrapped around your wrist.

Your arm tensed, your heart jumping in response to him.

He'd once told you of the differences between those whose hearts beat in fear and in excitement. You wished he'd tell you which one you were feeling now.

"Can we just... stop? For a little while? This isn't us, Y/N." He asked, his gaze locked to his lap.

You knew exactly what he meant.

The back and forth. The endless confrontation. To someone on the outside you were sure it probably looked like you were mortal enemies with the way you carried on.

"Sit with me."

You swallowed thickly, taking your position beside him once again as he released your wrist.

You waited, unsure of what to do or say as the silence grew in weight, neither of you prepared to be the first one to break it. To lower your guards. To admit your mistakes and lack of worth for the other.

Yet that was no surprise to you by now.

What was a surprise, however, was the urge that was steadily building in you. Not one that you'd had before, you could admit, and vastly different from the usual wants his presence instilled in you.

Not of lust or ardour, nor desperate wanting, although all those things were patently present.

Like a glass filled too full with water, the tears that rolled from the corners of your eyes betrayed you. Your chest tightened, your shoulders trembling under the blanket that warmed you, though that warmth had been robbed from you now.

Minho spaced you a glance, one that he wouldn't have followed up with a second look in normal circumstances.

Yet this time, he did.

His expression dropped, his crimson gaze softening as he placed the bottle to the floor. He turned to face you properly, sliding closer without needing a prompt of any kind.

Your tears worsened the closer he got, the tap unending as it seemed to force the things from your eyes. You sunk your teeth to your bottom lip in an effort to stifle the sobs from rupturing, though that only resulted in a quiet, pained whimper.

His arms closed around you, gentle yet strong, his lean fingers lacing into the hair at the back of your head. As though coddling a frightened child, he pulled you in, stretching his legs out and reclining comfortably along the length of the sofa as you slotted to his side, legs entwined with his and head buried in his silken shirt.

It was almost too natural, the way you fitted him. The way he held you, his chin resting atop your crown and arms around your trembling form.

There were no words exchanged, not as your tears began to subside through his simple proximity alone. Not as the pain in your chest began to ease, your heart seeming to knit together with the most fragile of threads with his gentle hushes and soothing strokes of your hair.

The cold he radiated had all but evaporated with the embrace, and what had once been a pit of dread in your stomach and a throb in your head, was now a sense of tentative comfort and security.

It seemed he understood, without the need for explanations, that you were struggling on nearly every conceivable level with everything that had happened. Guilt, regret, yearning and sadness, it was an amalgamation of emotions for an endless number of reasons, and you'd have killed yourself trying to put them into some sort of coherence.

You couldn't be sure how long you stayed like that with him, it could well have been hours for how fast the time seemed to pass. Yet pass it did, and just as you felt yourself able to speak and form words that would make a margin of sense, Minho did it for you.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he muttered, the drawl of his voice reverberating through his chest against your ear. "I was out of line... back at the estate. Said some things I shouldn't have."

You shook your head as best you could, loathe to hear apologies of any kind from him. It wasn't needed. Wasn't right.

"I'm the one who's sorry. Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong, because of me. You were right."

"Stop with the persecution complex," he retorted, though his tone was still gentle. "We've all made mistakes, done things we're not proud of. Seungmin might act like he is, but none of us are fit to judge. Stones in glass houses and all that."

A moment of silence settled in, interrupted only by your gentle breaths.

"For what it's worth... You did more good than harm. In the end."

You had a hard time believing that. Too hard a time, in fact, and the sentiment only made you feel worse.

"It's not enough, Minho. I've been... so fucking _selfish_. You and Chan, you're-"

Gentle fingertips at your chin tilted your head up to meet his gaze, visible through his thick black lashes.

"Chan and I are as we've always been," he whispered, vision flicking consistently from your lips to your eyes. "And even if we weren't, it wouldn't be your place to worry about it. We knew what we were getting into when we fell... When we met you."

He swallowed, seeming to contemplate the next thing before he spoke it.

"It hurt like shit," he admitted, his voice hoarse. "What you did with my brother. But the more I think about it, the more I think..."

He hesitated once more, the words seeming to catch on the tip of his tongue.

"... That you're just in love with him. Tied to him."

More tears fell at Minho's revelation, though that was far from what it was to you. It was a bitter truth, a painful slice of knowledge that only made your heart hurt all the more, because as bleak as it was, it wasn't even all of it.

"Minho," you whimpered, curling your hands to his shirt, desperately appealing to rid him of the sadness in his eyes, "you're right. I do love Chan."

Minho blinked, face expressionless with your confirmation. Yet the air ran thick, the pounding of your heart so clear now even to you, you supposed it must have been deafening for him.

"I love him..." You repeated, summoning the courage you needed.

"But I... I love you too. I can't explain or justify it, but I know it. My heart knows it. Every time I look at you or hear your voice, I know... That I'm _so_ in love with you. I am tied to you, just as I am him. And it's _fucking_ tearing me apart..."

Your voice faltered, your cheeks strewn with tears that you'd resigned control of long ago. Minho tensed, his lips parting expectantly as he looked like he was about to say something.

Yet whatever it was, he decided on its' irrelevance, instead resorting to more physical displays of his affections.

Because you knew them to be mutual.

You felt it in the breath of exasperation that escaped him, in the way he captured your lips so passionately it made your head spin. Your back arched as you pressed yourself into him, his large hand cupping your cheek as the other clutched to your hip. He thumbed away the tears that marked you, the hand on your hip gliding to the small of your back to tug you closer, then down your bare thigh.

Clad in only your underwear, you had no trouble in hitching your leg to him, his large hand gliding along the underside of your skin. He rolled his hips into you, a gentle display of need that was indicative of his growing lust, your cheeks burning anew with latent desire.

He smelled like cinnamon, tasted like faded booze, his tongue melding with yours and making your head run blank of any thoughts that might have plagued you in that moment.

For it appeared that neither of you could wait any longer.

You laced your hand to his fiery tresses, tugging at the roots as he squeezed at the supple flesh of your rear, the two of you welcoming the long overdue descent into fierce wanting. Quiet moans of pleasure seeped from your throat, yet Minho drank them in, tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth, nosing at your jaw so he could lap at it, wandering to your cheek and ear lobe.

"I won't be denied this time..." He muttered amongst the expanse of your prickled skin.

"Neither will I-"

Your hands fell to the buckle of his leather trousers, Minho stopping his ministrations so he could watch you prise it undone. His breathing heavy and eyes hooded, he caressed your thigh absently as you slid the belt from its' hooks, dropping it off the edge of the sofa with a prompt clatter.

You popped the buttons slowly and eased down the zip, slipping your hand inside the confines of the clothing before Minho even had a chance to give you permission or otherwise. Yet the hiss that seeped through his gritted teeth as your hand splayed across his stiffened, clothed member was utterly rewarding, his lids sliding closed as his forehead pressed to yours.

"This is you and me... you know that, right?"

The confirmation you supposed was for his own peace of mind, a need to ensure that while your affection for his brother might be present, he needed them to be firmly buried. Gone, in all effect, for as long as he was with you. And you could indulge him that.

"You and me. Just us, Minho..."

His fingers dug to the flesh of your thigh as you palmed him over his boxers, one gentle stroke after another proving to be the thing that broke him. He reconnected your lips, consuming your tongue and clashing against your teeth. One swift movement on his part pulled you over him, and you were promptly positioned on his lap, your thighs straddling him at either side.

You silently grabbed a cushion from behind you, noting his awkward position with the arm of the sofa, gesturing for him to sit up briefly so you could slide it beneath his head. He did so breathlessly, two hands exploring the curve of your waist as he began to rock you on his clothed erection.

You couldn't stifle the moan of pleasure, a result of the friction he was giving you. Your panties clung to your dampened sex, your fingers working furiously to bring his trousers down enough to free his length.

And it wasn't long before you managed it, the sigh of relief that Minho gave as it sprung free indicating that he was more than ready to feel you. And you were past the point of wanting anything else, of second guessing or worrying about how this might affect you, or Chan, or even Minho himself.

You were running too hot with frustration, drowning in Minho and the way he made you feel.

This beautiful fucking vampire, this creature of danger and sheer myth was yours. He belonged to _you_. And now, you'd finally get to claim him.

You pulled your panties aside with one hand, Minho holding his rigid length by the base. Your other hand pressed to his chest, you supported your weight as best you could as you positioned yourself above him.

An exchange of glances as you hovered above his broad, pink tip, the butterflies in your stomach set to take flight at any second. The anticipation was enough to drive you wild, and by all accounts, Minho was tired of waiting. Tired of being second in line, and now was his opportunity.

A brazen smirk crossed his lips as he pulled you closer by the neck, once again claiming your lips for his own.

"Sit, kitten," he instructed, hoarse and thick. "If I’m not inside you in the next three seconds, I’ll end both of us."

And with his words, with his salacious uttering and promise of hellish unification, his large hand on your hip began to guide you down.

You felt the stretch of the entry, the way your sex moulded to the smooth shape of him, the size of what he offered. A silent cry fell from your lips as they parted inexplicably, your breath catching and body tensing until you'd taken him to the hilt.

Minho threw his head back, his hips stuttering with the effort of resistance he was putting in, attempting to stop himself from setting his own pace, for no doubt you'd be spent within moments if he did. But with that effort, came the protrusion of his fangs, and you were once again accosted with the most sinful of thoughts.

You remembered the first time Chan had drunk from you, in a moment such as this. How the sheer sensation had taken you to heaven before you were committed to hell, and the mere notion of it made you keen with excitement.

You pawed at his chest and began to move over him as your urges demanded, your wetness offering all the natural lubrication. It was so easy, the way you slicked yourself up and down his rigid cock, allowing him to feel you out while you all but fell apart. Yet you took your time in your ministrations, relishing in the way he felt, the way his rigidity stuffed you so full that he threatened to graze your cervix with too forceful a movement.

Yet as much as it was stimulating you at every possible angle, your thighs trembling with pleasure and heart pounding, it appeared all too slow for Minho.

A low growl from his throat indicated his tension, and you yelped in surprise as he wrapped his arms around you and stood from the sofa. He kicked the hanging trousers off his feet, tugged at the collar of his silken shirt, the buttons clattering to your old wooden floor all at once as he slunk it from his shoulders.

Your clothes were next, yet he had the sense to place you at the end of the bed before two strong hands tore the material asunder, clean down the middle, exposing your bare breasts and naked form to him. He hummed in appreciation at the sight of you, though you were equally as enamoured with the chiselled, caramel sculpture he was. Your panties followed as he sunk to his knees and took them between his teeth, reducing them to shreds with a simple tug and nip.

It was wildly exhilarating, your breathing only worsening as he positioned himself between your legs, caging you in on the bed.

"You're a fucking tease," he purred, large fingers closing carefully around your throat. "You make me wait so long, even fuck around with my brother, and that's all I get?"

"N- No..." You retorted, clinging to the bed sheets beneath you as he laved his still slick cock through your bare, soaking sex. "You can have... everything. E- _Everything_ , Minho-"

Another ornery smirk passed his stunning features, his eyes now a deep shade of crimson that you'd only seen from him once before, the last time you'd come so close to having him.

"I know, baby. Because you love me, right?"

You nodded desperately, taking a breath of air as he released his grip on your airways, his arm slipping under your back, around your waist.

"I do," you muttered, hooking your feet around him, pressing them into his rear, "I love you Minho... I love all of you- aah, f- _fuck_ -"

Your words faltered, being replaced with a staggered moan as he eased himself inside you once more. He held you close to his body with the arm he'd hooked under you, his raw strength allowing for you to remain almost suspended in mid air as he plunged his cock to your deepest parts.

You wailed wantonly, entangling your fingers in his tresses, your eyes rolling back as he fucked you with a passion you'd never felt from anything, much less during sex of any kind. One fluid motion after another, his breaths heavy in your ear, your knees began to tremble as you met his thrusts halfway, your bodies moving together in a symphony of eroticism.

You supposed the only thing that could make it better, send you to euphoria that little bit quicker was...

"Bite me."

Minho recoiled, his eyes wide as he dropped you to the mattress, stopping his motions.

He cocked his head, unsure if he'd heard you quite right until you repeated the instruction, your hands held either side of his painfully beautiful face.

"Drink from me..." You breathed, clenching around his length that was now held still inside you.

He hissed through his teeth at your deliberate action, offering a sharp warning snap of his hips that made you whine with need.

"Don't be insane, kitten," he growled. "I can't have fucked you stupid already."

"It's not insane," you retorted, your words broken between moans. "I... I want you to do it."

And with the look on his face that followed, it appeared that was when he noticed. You could hardly believe he hadn't spotted it before.

The two small pinpricks on your chest that had more or less healed over by now, but that were still recognisable to those who knew their source. And Minho knew all too well.

His eyes narrowed, his jaw tensing as he sat back on his knees. He pulled you with him, holding you upright before his hand snaked around the back of your neck, keeping you in place.

"Is this what I think it is?" He hissed, his tone low and more than threatening.

You nodded gently, taking hold of his wrist as he seemed to experience some sort of internal battle, yet you knew nothing you could say would ease him to a conclusion.

"You let him...?"

"I did," you ushered, clambering to your knees to appeal to him, trying to catch his eye contact that was now firmly fixed to your marked chest. "And I don't regret it. But now I want _you_ to... I want you to taste me, Minho. I-"

You weren't given the opportunity to finish your sentence as Minho promptly snapped his head up, the hand on the back of your neck guiding you as you were spun to your front. You were pressed to the mattress as he prised your legs apart, slotting himself between them with a listless grace.

Your back arched for him, presenting your needy, burning sex for his advances, and true to form, he slipped inside you with one effortless, fluid thrust. His chiselled front connected with your back, his breath fanning over the nape of your neck as he continued to drive you up the bed. Yet the drags and gentle kisses that spanned the skin as he held your hair aside told you of the next thing to come, and the reason he'd put you on your front at all, out of range of the effects of your wild rose pendant.

"You had it too easy with my brother," he groaned, fangs dragging delicately over the flesh of your shoulder. "I take pride in being the reckless one. Might end up killing you."

"You won't. I trust you," you sighed, a shiver ripping through your spine. "Besides... it wouldn't be the worst way to go, would it?"

A hum of content reverberated from his lips, an experimental nip of his teeth at your flesh sending a yelp from your throat, followed by a moan as he offered a particularly deep thrust.

" _Fuck_ , kitten... I don't think I'm the most dangerous thing in this room anymore..."

And with that, his timed thrusts ceased as he allowed his fangs to stab the skin, a subsequent shooting pain ripping through your body before he soothed it with a gentle lap of his tongue.

Your arm was rendered numb, your shoulders trembling as he clamped his lips over the wound, your blood flowing freely to coat his tongue and mouth. The sounds of suckling and sinful appreciation were only offset by the pornographic squelches of moisture from your sex, his motions picking up as he drank down your essence.

Yet the blood seemed to have the desired effect, his whited knuckles all but ripping the sheets in two as his pace adopted a feral rhythm, his body tensing and veins prominent. You were driven up the bed, and much as it had been with Chan, the pain from above was soon drowned in the sheer pleasure from below, your quivering sex reacting involuntarily to every rock solid inch of his length that only seemed to stiffen with the latent effects of your life essence.

His growls were animalistic, stifled and dampened by your skin at his lips, his breaths broken and staggered when he took a moment to breathe and fuck you harder, fuck you faster, his pelvis slapping against yours. Any strength had been torn from you, the headboard of your bed thudding off the wall in a steady, firm rhythm that matched his languid thrusts and short, sharp ruts.

You were close to collapse, you knew, yet so far from being satisfied that you wondered if you'd ever be prepared to let Minho go again.

You didn't suppose you would.

A firm arm around your waist pulled you to your knees, and Minho shuffled you forwards to the head of the bed. You held the headboard as best you could, his fingers at the curve of your hips bending you for him just enough that he could slip back inside.

He did just that, a cry of desire burning from your throat before his fingers closed around your airways, his tongue glossing over the open wound on your shoulder as he held you flush to his front.

"Is this.... what you wanted?" He breathed in your ear, his words staggering with his motions.

"Y- Yes... Fuck, Minho, _please_ -"

"Is this us? You and me? Ah, _shit_ -"

You groaned right along with him as you tightened around his length, an involuntary action that was a direct result of the way he was stimulating your g-spot in this position. It was relentless, and he knew it, his hips snapping to your skin, his fingers applying expert pressure to the sides of your throat that rendered you lightheaded.

"Cum with me... Can you do that kitten?" He instructed, bringing his free hand around to your front, splaying his palm to your neglected clit.

" _Mhm_... I... I'm going to-"

"Good... Good girl, don't hold back."

As if on cue, his gentle fingertips at the hood of your clit began to work their magic, and barely a ghosting touch of stimulation was needed before you found yourself crashing to that place of euphoria you'd never wanted to come back from.

White hot heaven, searing and drowning all at the same time, you allowed the knot in your core to uncoil, the pressure to release from your lower body, your orgasm hitting you so hard Minho would never have stood a chance of resistance from his own, being that he remained buried inside you all the while, restricted and warm.

He cursed abhorrently, his voice breaking as you soaked his cock in all the release he'd coaxed from you, following your lead with the climax of his own. Thick and fast, he drove his seed inside you, supporting your weakening body in his own tensed arms.

The groans and broken gasps of mutual comedown were a beautiful thing to your ears, Minho's promises of being taken care of more than coming to fruition. Yet you knew it to be the first of the evening, and by all evil accounts, far from the last.

You felt the warmth of the blood trickle down your form as he remained still in holding you, painting your back a grisly canvas for him. His free hand trailed the length of the escaped essence, collecting it on his fingertip before he brought it around to your front.

You hadn't realised what he was doing until he was done, his grip on your throat waning just enough to allow your glazed eyes a glimpse of the marking he'd put upon you.

A cross, painted in blood and swiped at the edges, a clear blasphemy to any form of religion or godly form that could have been present in this place. It shouldn't have made you giddy. Shouldn't have made you swell with a sense of belonging in any way, because it was an affront to your very nature. Your _human_ nature.

You were losing yourself by the second. And welcoming it every step of the way.

"You're just as damned as we are." He grunted, pressing a bloodied kiss to the clean side of your neck.

"We might as well enjoy the fucking ride."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	20. Chapter 20

##### The days that passed after your sinful encounter with Minho were perhaps the most indulgent of your short life so far.

The most wanton and exhausting, you’d been drowned in a veritable haze of lust and pleasure, only coming ashore to allow yourself the basic human necessities that would keep you functioning long enough to willingly drown again.

Minho was ungodly. Aside from his obvious aversion to anything holy in the basic sense, it was rife in both his manner and character, the things he did and exposed you to.

If you’d ever harboured any doubt as to your feelings towards him, the last few days had provided all the confirmation you could ever hope to need.

The brightly lit days were slept away, as your routine naturally became his. You’d forgotten the sensation of sunlight to skin, of the sky’s colour when it was anything other than black or clouded. He stole opportunities wherever he could to get away from the vampire estate, the roar of his motorbike pulling up outside your building often being the thing that roused you from your daytime slumber. You’d made a habit of leaving your bedside window open, the part of you that wanted to be accosted by him when you least expected it shining through.

And that had happened several times already.

Yet as dark as the nights were, as starless and dull as they could be, Minho ensured they were plentiful in more ways than one.

His sexual appetite was ferocious, more than enough to keep you sated and then some. His affections were saccharine sweet, you considered yourself privileged beyond belief that you were privy to them, even if you did feel it was sometimes undeserved.

He filled your heart to bursting, putting you together before he tore you apart, and it was almost enough to rid you of every stress and conceivable worry, for as long as he was around.

For the time would always come where you’d inevitably part in anticipation of his presence being missed by his brothers, and even if it was only until the next setting of the sun, you’d be left alone with your thoughts.

With the clamouring of voices that told you what you were doing was wrong. That you were, as much as Minho had convinced you otherwise, enacting a form of betrayal to your supposed love for Chan, and you had no doubt he’d see it that way too.

You’d slip it into conversation where you could, doing your best to remain nonchalant when you asked Minho how Chan was, what he was doing, if he asked about you. Yet Minho knew, much as he always did, that your interest went far beyond anything platonic. You’d told him so yourself, that your affections for his brother were still as strong and present as they’d ever been.

Minho remained tolerant, indulging in your questions and giving the answers he thought you wanted to hear, yet that almost made things worse. You wanted him to be honest, to tell you if Chan was angry with your arrangement, if he even _knew_ what the two of you were doing, which you hoped he did despite your reservations. For he deserved better than being lied to. He deserved better than this.

The simple truth of it, was that you missed him. You missed all of them, their ways and their smiles, even the decrepit mansion itself. And that was without the looming threat of Dion and WAHVA hanging above your heads.

For neither had that disappeared. Every time your doorbell rang with a delivery or the footsteps of a passerby were heard, you’d tense. Every sound that whipped through your studio apartment, a creaky floorboard or drip of water had you readying for an attack that never came. Minho maintained that you were safer at home than anywhere else, yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something he wasn’t telling you. So on that logic, you took it upon yourself to keep the anti-vampire tools and weapons out of the trunk they once called home, just in case.

You simply wanted it to be over. The exhausting anxiety that would set in whenever Minho wasn’t around kept you suspended in a state of unsettled existence, in the limbo of a life unfulfilled. It had become your new normal, your new way of life.

But that was only when it didn’t belong to the red headed vampire.

* * *

##### The warmth of the shower water offered a sense of cleansing in every way, your muscles gradually relaxing as you stood under the head, hands held to your chest.

Minho had well and truly had his way with you the moment he’d slid through your window, your half-hearted attempt at organising your wardrobe cut short with his wicked intentions. Though that wasn’t unusual by now, and if previous nights were anything to go by, it was only the first of many.

You hummed in quiet content, dipping your head under the water as you spun around slowly, your hands sweeping back your hair for wetting. The mirror had already begun to condense with the rising steam, and as you cracked your eyes open gradually, you were treated to a most delicious sight.

Minho, naked and in apparent admiration of you, leaning against the bathroom door frame.

“Creep.” You muttered, closing your eyes once more as a small smile crossed your lips.

“Who, me?” He grinned, bare feet padding across the tiled floor as he approached you. “I resent that, kitten.”

A giggle slipped from you as he clambered into the shower beside you, strong arms encircling your waist tenderly. He swept your hair back for you, spinning you out of the stream of water and replacing your position.

“You good?” He whispered, tilting his neck aside as the water ran over his muscled form.

You hummed in response to his check in, placing your hands to his firm chest, running them over the canvas of his inexplicably perfect skin.

“Wasn’t too much for you?”

“It’s never too much.” You replied, a flush spreading to your cheeks as you recalled the way he devoured you on your makeshift coffee table. “You know that.”

“Clearly need to step up my game then.”

A contented silence settled in as he kept you close to him, swaying you gently before he repositioned you under the water, warming your skin through.

Perhaps it was the heady sensation of having him as near as this, or the simple safety you felt when you were wrapped in his arms so gently, but either way, a steady desire began to build in you all over again. Even with the water and the lingering citrus scent of your soap, everything about him proceeded to override your senses and rational thinking.

You glanced up at him, at his crimson eyes through the thickness of his black lashes, noting how they seemed decidedly duller than usual, only dulling further by the day. It also struck you that, lately, he’d been making a point of refusing to drink from you, only allowing it when he was too highly strung to deny himself the need for abatement.

And you could count those instances on one hand, now that you thought about it.

“When was the last time you drank?” You asked, the question holding more weight than you knew.

Minho shrugged nonchalantly, pursing his lips as he returned your curious gaze.

“Not sure. Few days, perhaps?”

“Minho,” you whined, slapping his chest gently, “you need to eat. Why make yourself suffer?”

A small laugh caught in his throat, an expression of sympathy on his face.

“You’re so cute, you know that?”

“Don’t brush this off. I mean it.”

“I know.” He sighed, curving his hand up your bare back. “I’ll get something later, okay?”

You pondered why his answer sat anything but well with you, and you debated, for a moment, not pushing the topic given his clear apprehension with it, even if it was unspoken.

But if you’d learned anything about Minho, it was that not asking meant not getting.

“Why… don’t you use me?”

Your words were barely a whisper, yet he would have heard them from across the apartment. He froze momentarily, several blinks gracing his eyes before he pressed a dismissive kiss to your forehead.

“I can’t,” he muttered, his words muffled by your skin, “and before you start, it’s not that I don’t want to. Believe me.”

You exhaled heavily, prodding him for more of an explanation by way of a literal poke to his wet chest.

“You won’t like why.”

“Just tell me.” You retorted, stalwart in wanting to know.

It was his turn to sigh as he pulled away from you, his hands sliding down to hold your own.

“It’s Chan.”

“Ch- Chan?”

The mere mention of his name sent your heart racing, to which Minho undoubtedly picked up on with the way a grimace crossed him.

“I tried to hide it when I got back to our place, after our first night together. You were all over me, but he didn’t let on that he noticed. Thought I’d got away with it.”

You swallowed hard, imagining the things he was speaking of. Chan’s resolve, his inclination to hide the things he was feeling even if they were being thrown in his face. It did nothing but make your chest hurt.

“Guess after the third or so night, he cracked. Asked me straight up what we were doing, why I smelled like you all the time.”

“And…?”

“And what?” He shrugged, squeezing your hands gently. “I told him what he wanted to know. The truth.”

You’d thought that Chan knowing the truth was a good thing, that transparency would only aid you, in the end. It was what you’d done with Minho, so it stood to reason that doing it with Chan would yield similar results. Yet the pit in your stomach didn’t allude to that. The guilt that set in was near crushing.

“How did he-”

“How did he take it? As well as can be expected, I suppose. He was mad, at first. Said that me coming to see you was only going to end in trouble. That I’m needed at the estate, just in case.”

“Right… Of course.” You muttered, loathe at the part of yourself that was a little disappointed with his reasoning.

And Minho seemed to know that.

“He didn’t say it outright, Y/N, he never does. But… I know he hates it. He probably wanted to rip my damn head off, and I wouldn’t have blamed him for trying. I’d have done worse.”

You glanced up at him through watery vision, the very fact that he was trying to console you through affirming Chan’s affections for you seeming wildly ludicrous. Yet he was, all the same, and you wondered why.

“Doesn’t this bother you?” You asked through gritted teeth. “That I love him? That I care about what he’s doing and how he feels about me?”

Minho pursed his lips for a moment, his shoulders raising an inch as he released your hands.

“You really want to know?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I-”

“It bothers me.” He hissed, clearly trying to keep a retainer on his temper. “It drives me damn near insane that no matter what I do or say, no matter how long I’m with you or how many times I give myself to you, you _still_ pine for him.”

You took a deep breath, resigning yourself for the further storm to come. You could hardly believe it had taken this long, and if anything, that was a clear testament to his endless patience and care for you. Perhaps this was for the best. A form of therapy for him, and you.

“I know you say you love me,” he breathed, shaking his head, “but I-”

“I do love you.” You interrupted, finally unable to keep yourself quiet.

You’d let him scream and shout if that was what he needed to do. Let him tear your place apart, throw a fit of rage or anger, for it was nothing if not deserved. But you would not, as long as you were alive, allow him to question your feelings. There was no room for negotiation with that.

“I love you, Minho. I wish I could put it in terms stronger than that, but I don’t know how.”

His eyes darkened as you closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around his middle. You pressed your head to his chest, holding him as tightly as you dared.

“This is us, remember?” You whispered, relishing in the warmth that the shower water had no doubt instilled in him. “I’m yours.”

“But you’re also his.”

You nodded gently, offering him a reassuring squeeze.

“I am. I’m sorry.”

Minho seemed to relax under your hold, perhaps a motion of defeat or of newfound resolve. You supposed it could be interpreted as either with the expression of near threat he gave you. He broke your grip on him gently, snaking his arms around your waist before he hitched you up in them, your legs closing around his hips.

“You test me. Push me to my limits…” He muttered, capturing your lips in a breathless kiss. “Why do I put up with it again?”

He held you under the water before pressing you to the cold, tiled wall of the shower, a gasp escaping through your lips as he deepened his motions.

“Because you… l- love me…” You whimpered between kisses, carding your fingers into his dampened tresses.

“Mhm… I must be insane.”

You slunk your arms around his neck, melting into him like he hadn’t just ravaged you only an hour before. You felt the prod at your sex as he stiffened with your embrace, clearly primed and ready to go all over again, vampire stamina making itself useful.

“Will you ever choose?” He murmured, nosing at your jaw as he slathered your neck and collarbone in open mouthed kisses, never straying too close to your protective pendant.

“Will either of you ever stop breathing?” You sighed, your lids fluttering with his ministrations.

“Not likely.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

He hummed in response, seeming to lose himself in his urges, in the scent of you and the steam of the shower mist as he began to sink you down over his rigid length. You could only groan into his mouth as he impaled you, your cheeks burning anew and your core tightening impossibly.

“Greedy little kitten.” He hummed, slicking you down over his cock before he lifted you again. “You just want everything to yourself, don’t you?”

“I want _you_ -”

“I know you do baby… And you’ll get me. You’ve got me.”

A particularly sharp rut of his hips sent his length plunging to your depths, a cry of pleasure ripping from your throat when he maintained the same pace. Quick and messy, a fervent need to claim you again, to almost rid you of thoughts of his brother, the thoughts that plagued you.

Wet slaps of skin echoed off the tiles, the downpour of water slicking the two of you against each other, burning your skin with the way it seemed to heighten in temperature, yet you knew that to be a product of your body moreso than the liquid itself.

You clawed at his broad shoulders, tugging at his hair as he reconnected your lips, the tips of his fangs brushing at your flesh. You couldn’t help the way your sex tightened around him with the sensation, the appeal of danger once more doing its’ part to arouse you in ways it shouldn’t.

“You’ll come to realise… that you’re made for me.” He groaned, licking a stripe into your open mouth, his thrusts fluid and steady. “Just me. Just us. _My_ perfect slut-”

The impromptu title and blatant degradation would have offended you in any other case, with any other person, despite the fact you knew it to be true. But with Minho, it simply didn’t. It couldn’t have, because it was a total encapsulation of what you were when you were with him. Of what you were with Chan, when you allowed yourself the weakness.

It was futile to deny it.

“Aah… f- _fuck_ , M- Minho-”

“Feel good, baby?”

You nodded desperately, unable to form words with the way one moan after another was bubbling from your throat, his thick girth stimulating you at every possible angle in this position. His arms tensed out and solid as he held you, his eyes searing a crimson red that you knew would only get brighter if he simply let himself go.

And so you coaxed it. Goaded it, like the awful creature you knew yourself to be.

You brought the pad of your thumb to his lips, and before he could react or stop you, flicked it against the razor edge of his exposed fang.

He recoiled momentarily, stilling his motions as his eyes blew open with your boldness. Though it was brief, and his face soon morphed to one of wicked knowing, his tongue glossing across his lips, over the bloodied fang.

“You little _fucking_ demon-”

You outstretched your tongue before him, dragging the pinprick of blood across the surface in a smear. His lips parted expectantly, watching you in tranced ardour. Heavy breaths tore from his throat as his chest began to heave, the intoxicating scent of your blood flooding his senses and shrilling his urges.

You laced your hands to his neck, keeping your mouth open so as not to dampen the blood, and then you pulled him in.

A mess of teeth and clashing of lips, his tongue embraced your own with more fervour than you’d ever felt from him. A throaty groan seeped into your mouth, a sharp plunge of his cock resulting in your own against him, the tangy taste of iron mixing between your saliva and his inherent cinnamon flavour.

It rendered your head blank, sending him into a chasm of lust that was unprecedented for such a small amount of your essence, yet it seemed to have the desired effect as he pulled away, his eyes blazing with need.

“You asked for this, kitten. _Fuck_ -”

And before you could collect yourself or prepare for the pierce to come, he clamped to your shoulder, fangs stabbing the pristine skin neatly. A ripping pain coursed through your bones, enough to get you to cry out in lament until he continued his motions from below, holding you effortlessly all the while.

He lapped over the wound, hums of appreciation and greed emitting from him when his lips closed over you, suckling and guzzling at the blood that escaped. You were as high as you’d ever been, watching through your hazed vision, his adams apple contracting and relaxing as he swallowed hastily, his nails digging to your flesh.

His wants begat his motions, his thrusts nothing less than feral as he broke away from the skin, his lips and tongue stained with your essence. His breaths were staggered, the heaviest you’d heard them as the shower water stung at your wound, washing the traces of blood down your form, diluting them to a gentle pink that gathered at his feet before swirling down the drain.

“Kiss me-”

Your instruction was simple, almost wordless as he cut you off before you could finish, his irony tongue and yours amalgamating all over again. His focus returned a measure as you tightened around him inexplicably, your rapidly approaching high threatening to spill over with the burying of sin you were wrapped in with him.

“You’re everything, Y/N.” He rasped, breaking away from the kiss only to admire your flushed and fucked out expression. “You hurt me, you heal me… You drive me crazy just to soothe me sane again… I-”

Your chest began to ache all over again, the clamouring of your love for the vampire at the very centre of everything you felt, no matter how much that was at any one time.

He hesitated, seeming to struggle in the heat of the moment with coherent words or thoughts. You could relate, inasmuch as your physical displays of affection were all you could manage when he consumed you like this.

Yet as his head buried to your body, his arms tightening around you in an effort to hold you closer, as his thrusts reduced to slow, deep motions that pushed you over the brink your orgasm, and as his release flooded hot and hard inside you, he muttered his devotions to your clammy, tender skin.

“I’d die for you…”

* * *

##### With the gradual rising of the sun, Minho had bid his farewells, followed by promises of the next night being just as fruitful and full of affection as the previous.

You hated the goodbyes, as did most people who were in love, you supposed, yet you were decidedly grateful for the break this time around.

After your shower rendezvous and mutterings of mutual love, Minho had made it a point to talk things through with you, inasmuch as you could manage in your recovering state.

He’d assured you that while he was just as enamoured with you as you were with him, he would try his best to come to terms with your affections for his brother. It would be hard, you were sure, and while you didn’t want him to suffer any more than your actions had already allowed, he knew he had to accept the undisputed fact for what it was. That he would drive himself insane in trying to bury or deny it, and there were plenty enough things around threatening to drive that sanity from him without the added factor of your limerence towards Chan.

You were grateful, endlessly so, that someone who seemed so obviously less than tolerant was prepared to accept your wandering heart, yet you couldn’t help but wonder why. If it had been anyone else, you were sure he’d have made his peace and left the situation behind, if not doing worse than that in the wake of his wrath.

And Minho had given you the reasons for that, by and large.

Throughout the long years of his life, he gradually came to find less value in the things he once held dear. Attachments, such as they were, were rendered meaningless when the passage of time made them so, for as they say, all things must inevitably come to an end. With the added burden of his allure, the indomitable appeal he held that drew humans to him like moths to flame, it was never long before any rapports he’d endeavoured to build began to crumble under the crushing weight that was his inherent supernatural appeal. Some withstood it longer than others, admittedly, but in the end, the same fate awaited them all.

With a lifetime of endings, a plethora of goodbyes that never got easier as the things around him continued to age, see their cycles through or drive themselves insane as many others before them had done, Minho came to the conclusion that you assumed most would given such a miserable track record.

That there was no point. No reason to begin something that would only end in naught but pain for all concerned, as his simple lifespan demanded. As his allure demanded. Indeed, he surmised that his tolerance for further partings had been spent, just as his ability to deal with loss and grief had been numbed. And with that numbing, Minho found a way to cope. A new approach to the things that once haunted him, in the form of neglecting such attachments.

It was sad, some might say, to see life for the bleakness it holds and abstain on the moments of joy it could bring. Yet not for Minho. For him, it was self-preservation. He could find his joy and be done with it, make use of his allure to serve the purposes his charm used to, for as had been demonstrated to him time and again, it seemed his allure was intent on removing the need for relationships, for rapports and any form of trust to be established.

And to be painted a malicious, manipulative beast that capitalised on the power he was given was surely lighter a burden than the suffering more loss would bring. It was his nature, after all.

But that was only, until you.

Until you and your protective little wild rose necklace, showing up before him like the answer to his unspoken prayers. Until your knowing smile and words of consolation, that fated night at the fountain. Until your first kiss, a lapse in judgement that had sparked something in him he hadn’t felt for years past. Something he’d forgotten, if he were to be truthful about it.

For over time, you steadily became the one thing that made him whole. That reminded him of the joy connection could bring, the excitement and the wonder. The uncertainty of all those first experiences with you filled him with reasons to look forward to a day, he found, and for the first time in a painfully long time, he imagined it might not be so wicked a thing to allow you the attachment you clearly wanted. The attachment he _could_ have, with the aid of your pendant.

Yet by the time this blossom of hope and tinge of a revelation had come, his brother had beaten him to it, and Minho himself had admitted that the presentation of a challenge might have extended your appeal past the things he knew he could get from you in the physical sense. You weren’t naive to that. It is in a persons’ nature to want the things they cannot have, to yearn for the possessions of their neighbours.

Perhaps those reasons could have been considered shallow to someone with a penchant for shows of grandeur and hopes of textbook, fairy tale romance. Yet not for you. Ever the realist, you supposed it was remiss of you to seek meanings in things that were meant simply as they were spoken. You’d done that once before, when this had all started. He’d told you not to get attached, and you’d spent hour after hour, day after endless day, pining over the reasons for his apparent hesitancy.

When really, it was as simple as Minho had made it out to be.

That in addition to his own lack of belief in relationships of any kind, he didn’t want you to get attached, because he himself believed he was a danger. Not just to your physical being, but to your mortality. He’d also followed Chan’s reasoning as to the threat you posed to them through WAHVA, holding it in the back of his mind as he uselessly resisted the pull you held, both through your blood and your sheer form. Though that hadn’t lasted for long.

Yet your tenacious behaviour and tendency to pursue things you shouldn’t had resulted in exactly the opposite, and you were now more attached than ever. Minho, somewhere in the mess of it all, found himself wanting _you_ more than just as an outlet for his desires, and the result was where you found yourself now.

He hadn’t wanted you, and now he did. He hadn’t been happy with your affections for Chan, and now he was, or at least, prepared to try and be. It was simple.

And with that simplicity, you found your dreams to be less plagued. Your mind to be less fuddled with thoughts of stress and danger, reflected in your subconscious as you slept.

The welcome rest you partook in wasn’t robbed from you as of the moment you awoke, and by the time you did, it was approaching nightfall.

Your eyes cracked open naturally, another day having been slept away for you to be greeted by the gentle setting of the sun. Amber and orange hues painted the skyline, and you were glad that you’d awoken while you still had the chance to see such a thing. You’d gradually become accustomed to the night and the beauties it offered, but perhaps the fact that you missed the sight of sunlight was indicative of a lingering piece of humanity in you.

It made you feel better, as you watched it from your bedside window. As the chilled evening breeze graced your face, sweeping your hair around your shoulders. Like a weight had been lifted from them, and perspective granted to you as a result.

Whether it be Dion’s lackeys, or Dion himself, whether it be WAHVA and their considerable force, or another vampire clan altogether, you knew things would work out in the end. Because they had to.

It was just that simple.

A gentle knock on your door roused you from your musings, your immediate reaction to note the time at which Minho had arrived. He was undoubtedly earlier than usual, but you weren’t about to gripe at that.

It only meant more time together, more time to hammer things out and more peace on the whole.

You smiled to yourself as you stepped down from your open window, tussling your hair out and padding over to the front door. A sense of giddy excitement had already sunk in, and you wondered if this would continue to happen for as long as Minho was around. You wondered if he felt it as strongly as you did. You hoped he did.

Approaching the door, you took hold of the handle, tugging it open without so much as a second thought.

“You’re early, Min-”

Only for your heart to sink immediately.

A sense of nausea washed through you, grounding the butterflies and seizing your happiness with both hands, wringing it tightly.

A suited man stood before you, sporting a white blonde buzz-cut, thick sunglasses and a desperately long, black trench coat. Two stoic men stood either side of him, taller and stockier in build, clad in much the same attire. His jaw remained sharp and set, his hand dipping to a pocket to retrieve something preemptively.

“Miss. L/N.” He addressed, fishing what seemed to be a wallet from the inside of his coat.

Your breath caught in your chest as you realised you now had a face to put to the name you’d only known through correspondence. To the voice you’d only heard over the phone.

He flipped the wallet open, holding it to your face abruptly.

Sure enough, the name you knew held strong in clear, black font, the Company logo printed to the identification card.

“Sifer…?”

“It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” He spoke, his tone as stern and calm as always.

“What are you-”

“I’d advise you as of this moment, not to speak, Miss. L/N.”

He whipped closed the wallet with a flick of his gloved hands, deftly stowing it away in the inner pocket of his coat before he removed his sunglasses, revealing a clean, pale scar across his left eye.

“We need you to come with us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ Feedback via [Tumblr](https://jl-micasea.tumblr.com/) or on AO3  
> ~ Support via [Ko-Fi](https://ko-fi.com/jlmicasea)


	21. Chapter 21

##### “We need you to come with us.”

Your throat ran dry with the sudden appearance of Sifer and his goons. A palpable creeping of ice cold panic, entirely inexplicable and yet present all the same.

It would have been foolish, you supposed, to believe WAHVA would leave you alone after the mission they’d sent you on. It was clearly of more import than they’d ever let on, evidently so much weightier than just a contact mission. Chan himself had alluded to such.

It would have been even more foolish to imagine you stood a chance of getting away from your visitors, despite the fact that there was nothing outwardly indicating that you _should_ , other than the sinking of your gut. The sense of self-preservation that was screaming at you to run, as far as you could go.

“What for?” You asked, needing further clarification, even if only to buy time. Minho was sure to turn up at any moment with the encroaching night, and he would certainly know what to do.

“The Company demands your presence,” Sifer explained, shoving his hands to his pockets. “After the failure of your mission we require a more… in-depth report than the one you gave.”

You could admit to the text you sent in your daze of depression being lacklustre if you were to look at it objectively, but it _was_ also the usual way you reported these things. Your first failure, perhaps, but still the outlined procedure.

You didn’t think pointing that out would be of any use right now.

“So I’ll just give it here,” you shrugged, knowing you were pushing your luck. “I don’t need to be at headquarters to tell you what went down. It was just as I reported. The family doesn’t want anything to do with-”

“I’m afraid that won’t do, Miss. L/N. I imagine you’re aware that this mission was of high importance to the Company, and subsequently, my orders are to bring you in. With your cooperation, or not.”

You shot him a look of disbelief, hardly believing that this was the same person who handed down your objectives from WAHVA at all. Even with his usual stoic nature, he had his brief moments of sympathy, much like he had before he sent you on this very job.

“Really?” You choked, shaking your head. “What are you gonna do, tie me up and haul me out of here?”

The two suited men behind him tensed up with your suggestion, one of them appearing to crack his neck, much to your horror.

“We’d rather not engage in that,” Sifer confirmed, holding a hand out to you. “But the information we believe you’ve collated during this mission is far more valuable than keeping up appearances. Wouldn’t you agree?”

You swallowed thickly, the nagging in your head that rehashed every warning Chan had ever given you, every little implication he’d made towards WAHVA’s more sinister side reappearing tenfold. Alarm bells rang, more panic seeping through, yet you did your best to remain calm.

Surely if you acted hostile, raised a fuss and stood your ground, it’d only make things worse for you. The suited goons certainly seemed to be up for it.

So perhaps in this case, it was smarter to play the fool. To feign ignorance and innocence, right the way until the end.

“Information? And what information is that, Sifer? My job was to get them to contact their Envoy, to fall back in line with WAHVA under their contract. They don’t want to. It’s as simple as that.”

“I implore you to comply with us, Miss. L/N, and we’ll discuss this at the-”

“Fine,” you interrupted, holding a hand up to him. “I’ll come. But this is on _my_ terms and _my_ time. If you’re dragging me to headquarters, I want to be compensated for it. Handsomely.”

A tentative nod from Sifer confirmed your request, and you released an indignant huff.

“Let me get changed.”

You were about to slam the door in his face when one of the built goons stopped it from bouncing closed with a single motion of his hand, swinging the thing back open.

“We’d prefer to keep sight of you.” Sifer smiled.

“Fucking creeps…”

The muttering under your breath couldn’t have been something they’d heard, yet you surprised yourself with thinking that they would. That was certainly what you’d intended. Yet another habit you’d developed from spending time around the clan.

 _Your_ clan.

* * *

##### You couldn’t be sure how long the drive had been, yet with the way your back had begun to ache from being sat in one position, you could be assured it was too long.

A plush, black SUV had been parked outside your apartment building, and you’d been ushered inside it before you’d had a chance to look around for any sign of Minho, for his motorbike, or his tell-tale head of red hair.

The drive had been silent, mostly, save for the crackling of a radio coming from the front passenger seat. Sifer had promptly wound the divider window up, separating you from being able to hear any of what had been said, and that only frustrated you further.

You were very aware that things could go wrong here, yet you supposed if you maintained the façade of the incompetent freelance Envoy long enough, they’d simply let you go, perhaps with the termination of your contract or a varying penalty of some kind. Manageable, by all accounts.

Eventually, the SUV pulled up to a gradual stop, and the sight that greeted you when you stepped out certainly wasn’t what you’d expected.

You’d only been to WAHVA headquarters once before, upon your initial contract agreement all those years ago, and so your memory of the place was starkly lacking. You’d expected a grandiose, high-rise building, platinum metals and glass all the way to the umpteenth floor with reams of people flooding in and out. An intimidating sign, splashed with the WAHVA logo and flags of every nation hanging from the outcrops to signify just how powerful they were.

Yet you saw no such thing, and you knew that to be no failure of your memory. In fact, you were sure you were looking upon the very back of said building. The alleyway before you appeared to lead to a rear entrance of some sort.

“This way, Miss. L/N.” Sifer gestured for you to follow him.

And you did, begrudgingly so, with the goons either side of your back and Sifer at your front. He led you down the cold stone alley, turning a corner to a red brick building that didn’t hold a candle to the real headquarters. It looked abandoned, almost, claimed by ivy and wild foliage with the windows having been burst or shot out, the metal shutter that grated over the door rusting at the edges.

Yet Sifer lifted the corrugated metal, promptly shoving open the door it concealed and beckoning for you to follow as he entered it.

You did so apprehensively, obstruction and debris crunching beneath your feet. The place appeared to be a warehouse of some description, though it couldn’t have been one they used. Your earlier speculation that it had been long abandoned was only confirmed as you wandered through the open space, loose chains swinging freely from the ceiling and puddles on the floor soaking your soles, no doubt a product of the open gashes in the decrepit roof.

“Where are we?” You asked, your voice echoing off the cold, graffitied walls.

“The back door.” Sifer explained bluntly, approaching a downward staircase at the very rear end of the dark warehouse.

You followed him hesitantly, padding down the steps behind him, the goons still strong at your back.

“And… is there a reason we’re not going in the front?”

“There is.” He coolly replied, though offered no more explanation than that.

And that only made your gut churn all the more. If they weren’t taking you through the front door, that was because they didn’t want you to be seen or noticed. You didn’t suppose that boded well for you, at all.

Approaching the foot of the staircase, a cast iron door stood before you. Just as rundown as the rest of the place, yet the one thing that did stand out was the pristine, platinum card reader that sat beside it, entirely out of place.

It was wildly indicative of something far more important beyond, and for a moment you wondered why it was so plainly easy to find. Even if it was stowed away down here, it wouldn’t have taken more than a group of curious teenagers or a drunk in search of warmth to come across it.

Sifer retrieved the required card from the inside of his black coat, swiping it quickly through the thin reader and prompting a mechanical buzzing to emanate from the door. He tugged on the handle, the thing swinging open with ease before he started down the long, steel plated corridor that branched out in front of you.

It then dawned on you _why_ the rear entrance door to WAHVA’s headquarters was so potentially easily discoverable. Because even if someone were to find it, they wouldn’t have been able to get in. No amount of sheer force or weaponry would have opened the thing or damaged the card reader, so to put it simply, WAHVA couldn’t have been all that concerned about it. Often the very presence of such a high end contraption would be enough to repel or perturb.

So it was simply a door, to those who didn’t know better.

Yet it still seemed to you that WAHVA had gone to almost ludicrous lengths to construct this rear entrance, the corridor before you appearing endless in length. With the descending of the staircase, you were low enough under ground level to safely assume that this path probably took you right under the street and roads, nicely out of public sight and indeed, anyone else.

And just as your feet began to adopt that dull ache that comes with walking too long, just as you were about to prod Sifer with more questions that you figured you’d probably end up getting the answers to anyway, he stopped.

For you’d approached the end of the corridor, only for another electronically locked door to be opened with his magical little card. It beeped open much the same way as the first one had done, and you were escorted up another staircase, to an area that almost instantly, sent tension to your shoulders.

Because it was, for all intents and purposes, a prison.

Cells ran the length of the walls, yet not cells in the traditional sense.

They were guarded off with plain glass panels that separated the riff from the raff, allowing whoever was outside to get a good look inside at their discretion. The doors were solid cut steel, with flaps in the centre of them and card readers at their sides, much like the ones you’d just passed through.

Your throat ran dry as you followed Sifer deeper still, casting glances into the cells only to find them empty of anything other than a simple bed and toilet for convenience. You weren’t sure whether that made you feel better.

Despite the macabre purposes they were so clearly used for, the whole place adopted a clinical feel, with the walls made up of a clean steel and bright fluorescent lights beaming down from the ceiling, offering garish illumination that could well have been blinding to those with worse sight. The floor was also metal of some description, yet everything was so pristine it only made the whole scene more unsettling. Like the unspeakable things that had occurred here were just that, and they would remain unspoken about inasmuch as appearances allowed.

“What the hell is this place?” You muttered, more to yourself than to any of your escorts, for you didn’t expect to get an answer that would make any sense.

And true to Sifer’s form so far, you didn’t.

You were simply escorted to the end of the row, and shown inside the room Sifer had picked out for you.

This was one was different from the rest, in that it housed a plain metal table in the centre of it with stiff chairs at either side, yet it still held the same overpowering scent of bleach that claimed everything here. It only alluded to the past erasure of far more morbid things.

“Sit.” He pulled out a chair for himself at the opposite side.

You did so nervously, noting how the suited goons had remained outside, much to your relief.

It appeared glaringly obvious to you that all this show and fancy was for far more than the purposes of taking a simple report, and you were fully braced for things to go wrong. Which they would, if you were to remain true to your intentions.

And _those_ largely consisted of giving them fuck all in the way of anything they wanted.

You crossed your legs over one another, your arms over your chest in defence as you watched Sifer sit politely before you. Gloved fingers laced together, his sunglasses placed neatly beside him.

A moment of silence settled in, the air thick with uncertainty as you waited for the other shoe to drop. You knew enough about interrogations from programmes you’d seen in the past - because that was undoubtedly what this was by now - to know that remaining silent until spoken to was usually the best way to conduct oneself if they hoped to avoid incrimination.

You weren’t sure what you were even being incriminated _for_.

Either way, it appeared that Sifer was more than prepared to break said silence.

“You may give your report now, Miss. L/N.” He spoke, his voice calm and cool.

“May I?” You quipped, cocking your head. “How kind of you. But I’d rather you just tell me what you want Sifer. What the Company wants.”

“We simply want your account of what happened. We found the usual method of conveyance to be inadequate, both in delivery and content, which brings us to our current position. Why don’t you begin by telling me the end result?”

“The end result? I told you what the end fucking result was. They don’t want anything to do with WAHVA, or their contract. It’s as simple as that.”

“So they refuse to uphold their terms?”

“What terms?” You scoffed, recalling the bare bones arrangement Chan had told you about. “It was a minimal contract to begin with, right? They refused the ID testing for their blood strains, they refused involvement in the volunteer programmes, from what I gathered all they even agreed to was to be kept on record and traceable. And that’s what they’ve done.”

Sifer cocked his head, his piercing blue eyes narrowed at you.

“The family were required to stay in contact with us. They didn’t do that. Those were the terms they broke-”

“Sifer, please,” you interrupted with a roll of your eyes. “You know as well as I do that WAHVA sent more people to them, pestered them about joining the volunteer programmes, despite assuring them they didn’t have to if they didn’t want to. And they _don’t_ have to, right?”

Perhaps you were pushing your luck, it was a goading tactic at best. But you almost _wanted_ him to refute the truths Chan had enlightened you to, all that time ago. Truths of corruption and masked evil.

“Of course,” he replied. “It’s not mandatory. We’re simply grateful that any vampires choose to work with us in demonstrating their capabilities. The more Envoys and humans we can train with allure resistance, the better equipped we are to protect everyone.”

It was a solid response, and for a moment, you wondered if he knew. About WAHVA’s dark side, or the clan disappearances, despite the fact it was still just speculation for you. Solid, near irrefutable speculation, but speculation nonetheless.

And the two of you were still dancing around one another with your answers anyway.

“So there you have it. If anything, the Company broke the terms first. You almost can’t blame them for not wanting to stay in contact. They just want to be left alone.”

Perhaps you shouldn’t have added that last comment. The one thing you couldn’t do in this moment was allow your personal feelings on the matter to cloud your judgement, or shine through in any way.

“Do I detect a margin of… sympathy, Miss. L/N?”

_Shit._

“For the family? No,” you rolled your eyes once more. “You don’t. What you _should_ detect is cold, hard facts, because that’s what I’m giving you. Shouldn’t you be more concerned that the Company broke an agreement?”

“Be that as it may,” Sifer sighed, his fingers flexing slightly. “It is not my place to question the judgement of the Company. WAHVA endeavours to bring-”

“- humans and vampires together under the banner of unity, yes, thank you. I’m aware.”

Another measure of silence settled in after the dismissive, corporate preaching response, before Sifer pursed his lips. His gaze remained unmoving from you, as if trying to detect what you weren’t telling him.

“I’ll be blunt, Miss. L/N-”

“Oh, good.”

“We…” He continued, his jaw locking. “The Company, have it on good authority that you spent significant time in the presence of this family. Could you shed some light on that?”

And there it was. The elephant in the room that you wondered if he’d address, and now that he had, you were forced to feign ignorance.

“What kind of light?” You asked in an attempt to get him to be more specific, because that would only work in your favour.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by you that his questions so far had been deliberately broad, and you weren’t about to walk into the trap of giving him too much by alluding to even more. You needed to play the game.

“Well,” he mused, tugging at the tips of the glove on his hand as he began to remove it. “Could you tell me _why_ you spent such time in the company of vampires?”

Still too broad, but it seemed he wanted to know the starting point. To which you could indulge him.

“They took me captive,” you replied, shrugging nonchalantly. “I turned up at the address you gave me in the debrief, ready to do as I’d been instructed. Didn’t take long before I was overpowered.”

“Overpowered how?”

“One of the brothers, he used his… strength. Speed. Knocked me out before I saw him coming. When I woke up, I was detained.”

A measure of the truth, perhaps, but you weren’t about to tell him that Changbin had used his allure on you the second you’d walked through their door. Because that would have only led to the next question pertaining to what his allure was, specifically, and that simply couldn’t happen. Chan had told you himself they didn’t share that information lightly, and for good reason. Knowledge was power, their blood was their identity.

“Did you not attempt escape?” He asked, as though that hadn’t been one of the first things you’d considered.

“Am I an idiot?” You snapped. “Of course I did. But they took my shit. My weapons and tools, plus there was eight of them, and one of me. I stood little to no chance of getting away or standing against them. But you knew that before you sent me on this ridiculous job.”

Sifer cocked his head, placing the removed gloves from his hands on the table before him.

“And they brought you into their fold after that, yes?”

The question sent your hairs standing to end. He was deliberately leading you on, dragging you down a path of questioning that would trick you into giving everything away. He couldn’t know the truth of your relationships with the clan.

_Could he?_

For that truth would have involved telling him how you’d come to live among them as naturally as the daylight. Telling him that you’d forged friendships and affections for creatures not of your species. Telling him that you’d fallen irrevocably in love with two of them, in fact, and indulged in fantasies more sordid and erotic than his piteous mind could ever conjure.

No. The truth simply wasn’t an option.

It would imply that you held exactly the kind of information they seemed to want from you, the kind of information that comes from creating those rapports. He’d left you with little choice, it seemed.

_Lie until the end._

“What?” You shook your head, trying to sound as incredulous as possible. “No, Sifer. They didn’t. They had no reason to trust me in the first place and even less of a reason after I told them I was with WAHVA. I was locked in a room, alone. Fed food from under a door until eventually, I got away. I’m lucky they didn’t kill me.”

He nodded absently, eyebrows raised in thought, though gave no indication of belief.

“And the escape…” He muttered, lacing his fingers together once more. “How did that happen?”

You swallowed hard, your brain racing to come up with something he would even remotely accept.

“I just… got the better of them. When they weren’t paying attention. I can handle myself, Sifer, you know that.”

Lacklustre at best. Hardly believable, especially given your earlier claim of weakness. And with the look that crossed Sifer’s face, you were sure he wasn’t on board with it.

“Miss. L/N,” he sighed, fishing under the table for something you couldn’t see. “I’m going to ask you now, to be truthful with me. We’re asking for your cooperation, not for a fairy tale.”

He retrieved a brown paper envelope from somewhere beneath the table, unwinding the string that bound it at the seams. You tensed all over, eyes widening as he opened the thing and dipped inside it, slowly retracting what appeared to be a handful of black and white printed photographs.

He slid them to the table before you, slowly sitting back in his chair as you scanned them over without moving from your position.

“What the hell are those?” You choked.

“Please, take a look.”

And so you did, tentatively reaching out to separate the photographs from one another.

And your heart sank. Your stomach churned impossibly, as your precious memories manifested before your eyes.

Of Jisung and his smile, with you caught in his embrace. Of Minho with his hand in yours, tugging you down the stone steps of the vampire estate that day he’d stolen you away to collect things. Of you in the arms of Felix, enraptured and high with happiness on the night you’d gone to the club. And of you with Chan, the pair of you naked, your hands wound around his bed post and his lips clamped to your chest.

They had everything.

Either through the panes of windows or in the concealment of shrubbery and crowds, they’d snapped the hard evidence they needed to prove you surely knew _everything_ about these vampires.

That you were in love with these vampires, some clearly deeper than others.

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes as you knew yourself to be doomed, the very real outcome of your affections for them dawning on you too soon. You’d been careless. Stupid to mistake WAHVA’s lack of direct involvement for lack of a presence at all, and deep down inside, you knew you’d known better than that.

Sifer reclined in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he absorbed your reaction. Your expression of horror as your pretence shattered at the seams, the revelation that he’d known exactly how involved you really were doing nothing for your mental state.

“I’m prepared to give you one last chance,” his tone was almost sympathetic in nature. “We need the information you have on them.”

You shook your head, inhaling a breath of air through a choked sob as you refused to break down in front of him. Things were about to go wrong, and you knew it. Felt it.

“What are their blood strains, Miss. L/N? Are they Class A’s, as we suspected?”

You remained silent, clamping your lips together forcefully.

He leaned forwards in his seat, hands forming into fists on the table before him.

“Their allures, what are they? We need specifics.”

More silence as you shook your head fiercely, your nails digging to the palms of your hands. The forwardness of the questions was almost a relief, because despite the stress that gripped you, at least you now, finally, had the confirmation you sought.

WAHVA really had deceived you. They were as dirty as Chan had believed.

“Y/N, please,” Sifer implored, the reversion to first names terms telling you that he was getting antsy. “Just tell me what you know, while I’m still in control here.”

“Fuck you, Sifer. Fuck _you_ , fuck the _Company_ , fuck _all_ of this. I didn’t want any of it.” You breathed, a single tear rolling free despite yourself.

You heard the stirring of the suited men outside, the escorts that you were quickly realising were as much for Sifer’s benefit as they were for yours, with the way his eyes widened and an expression of desperation crossed his face.

“I know this isn’t easy,” he pleaded, his tone rushed as the goons appeared to turn their attention to the room. “But this is going to get far worse, Y/N. I don’t _want_ you to get hurt-”

“Don’t you think it’s too late for that? I’m already broken.” You hissed, cutting off his appeals. “So do your goddamn worst.”

His head fell to his hands as the door opened with your words, the goons approaching you at either side.

They took an arm each, hoisting you from your chair, your efforts to break free from them rendered largely useless with the raw strength they seemed to posses.

“I didn’t want this, Y/N.”

You were dragged from the room, your pleas for release falling on deaf ears.

“This out of my hands now.” Sifer muttered, though you were too far gone to have heard it.

“I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ Feedback via [Tumblr](https://jl-micasea.tumblr.com/) or on AO3  
> ~ Support via [Ko-Fi](https://ko-fi.com/jlmicasea)


	22. Chapter 22

##### The taste of metal was the first thing you awoke to.

A tangy, iron pinch on the surface of your tongue that could only be indicative of one thing.

The sound of dripping water teased at your surroundings, of a gusting breeze flowing through an open space. A shiver claimed you, nipping at your bare legs and shoulders as the shorts and tank top you wore did little to shield you from the cold that swept this place.

A gradual ache throbbed at your temples as you roused, through the back of your head as your eyes cracked open, your lips running painfully dry of any moisture to wet them. You swallowed thickly, grimacing as you attempted to bring your hands to your head and soothe it.

Yet you couldn’t.

Indeed, there wasn’t one of your extremities that you could move of your own will, as you absorbed your situation with building dread and trepidation.

As far as you could tell in your hazed sense of mind, you were chained to a chair. Thick restraints around your wrists and ankles, each of those bound to the arms and legs of it respectively.

You tugged uselessly, acting on simple instinct to confirm the state of confinement, to free yourself if possible. Though it achieved nothing in particular, only resulting in the sharp scrape of metal on itself.

A cough rose in your throat as you looked around, and you recognised the place to be the same long abandoned warehouse you’d passed through on your way here. The building that led to the concealed back entrance of WAHVA.

You were alone save for the nondescript sounds of rodents scuttling around in the walls and darker corners, yet an empty wooden chair had been placed in front of you. That only gave rise to panic. Clearly your captor was somewhere nearby, out of sight, for your current situation and physical state suggested that _someone_ had taken the liberty of roughing you up before tying you down.

You soon came to identify the taste that plagued your mouth as blood, albeit stale, a subsequent sting piercing your lip as you flicked your tongue over the clean split in it. You safely assumed that whatever punch you’d taken also contributed to the aching in your head, and you began to wonder just how long you’d been detained like this.

You remembered the two suited escorts dragging you from the interrogation room, away from Sifer. You remembered the forceful nature of their holds, how you’d struggled and thrashed in an effort to get them to let you go, even if you’d known you had nowhere to escape to.

You couldn’t recall how you’d ended up here, however, yet you could guess well enough that somewhere between leaving the interrogation room and being brought to this place, they’d ran through their ream of patience with you.

Understandable, you supposed. No less painful though.

“Hello?!” You called, remiss to stay in this place any longer than you had to.

You choked on the word, a dry cough ripping through you uncontrollably, packing tight in your chest, and that only worsened the pounding in your head.

You struggled to focus as your surroundings blurred dangerously, drowsiness claiming you all too suddenly. A minor concussion perhaps? If that were the case you were certainly in no condition to prepare for the things you felt were coming.

Yet you still heard the footsteps.

The steady, calm pace of a person approaching you from behind. You couldn’t have turned to look with the restraints keeping you in place, and even if you had you doubted you’d be able to make out much more than a figure.

“W- Who’s there?”

“Miss. L/N…” The voice purred, and it was nothing short of that. A purr, a veritable drawl of your surname that sent a shiver down your spine.

A shiver of fear. Ice cold dread and insidious anxiety the like of which you’d never experienced before.

“I’m _so_ glad to see you’re awake.” He continued, strolling into your view with all the nonchalance in the world.

From what you could discern of him, he was uniformed much the same way Sifer had been. Smart black shoes, sporting a tucked and trimmed suit with a long back overcoat draped on his shoulders. Leather gloves, thick black sunglasses, a short brunette crew cut and an air of grace, you willed yourself to focus as he took hold of the empty chair before you, dragging it to his position.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, taking a seat as he crossed his legs elegantly.

“P- Peachy…”

“Good,” he smiled, crossing his arms over his chest comfortably. “I was rather afraid our men hit you too hard.”

So it was them. Wonderful.

“What am I… doing here? Why am I… tied up?” You croaked, doing your best to keep yourself from crumbling.

He cocked his head at you, a look of mild disinterest crossing his features.

“I’m going to torture you, Miss. L/N.”

If shock value was what he’d been after, it was a resounding success. 

Your eyes flew open as they began to water, your heart stopping with latent fear. You weren’t sure why it had been such a surprise, what with every possible thing around you indicating that this wasn’t where polite conversations and rudimentary meetings occurred.

It was a place _for_ torture. For unspeakable things that couldn’t be seen or heard of, firmly off WAHVA’s property and out of their remit. While you’d assumed the worst the moment you’d awoken, hearing it didn’t make it any easier.

“So these are the true colours…” You muttered, heaving a hopeless laugh.

“What’s that?”

You shot a glare up at him, ignoring the subsequent shrill of pain in your head.

“The Company… You people. You’re no better than the worst of the vampires. I hadn’t wanted to believe it. I guess… I was a fucking idiot.”

“Miss. L/N,” the man chuckled, holding a hand to his chest in grace. “You misunderstand. Our intentions are pure at heart. The Company simply does what is necessary to secure a proud and peaceful future for-”

“Just stop!” You yelled, choking with the effort of it. “Spare me the corporate bullshit! Who are you even trying to f- fool anymore?! This is insane!”

The man pursed his lips, though didn’t rebuke you. Instead, he brought his hand up and began to tug on the gloved tips of his fingers, removing it methodically.

“Insane it might be, Miss. L/N. But sometimes the end _does_ justify the means. You should know that better than anyone.”

You released a quiet sob of defeat as he stood from his chair, sinking to his knees before you.

You hadn’t registered he was touching you until his hands slid to your thighs, into the line of your blurred and wavering vision, your head hung low. Perhaps it was deliberate, that he wanted you to see what it was you saw.

And what you saw, was nothing short of horrifying.

His right hand was as human as could be. Perfectly nondescript and normal, all fingers accounted for and nails trimmed.

Yet the nails on the left hand were unnaturally long and razor sharp, nothing like a humans’ in their shape or blackened colour, and you found yourself glancing between them in repeated comparison as all thought ceased to be.

Gripped with confusion and fright, you snapped your head up to meet his gaze, to which he carefully removed his sunglasses. Slow and exaggerated, as if drawing out a reveal he’d only been dreaming of, a sickening smile laced to his features. And with the removal, came a sight more perplexing than anything you’d ever seen.

His right eye, a natural green colour. Ordinary and largely unassuming.

Yet his left was a searing crimson, blood shot and angry, the pupil in the centre a stark black pit that only sent the hairs on the back of your neck to attention.

Your jaw fell slack, breaths catching in your throat as you struggled to process what you were even looking at. Because whatever he was, he was no longer human. Or no longer _just_ that, at the very least.

“You might think you know,” he drawled, his tone slow and smooth in delivery. “What we want from you. What we want from the creatures you’ve cavorted with like a whore in heat… But you’re about to have your world blown open, little girl.”

“I… I- What the f-”

“Tell me,” he continued, holding your panicked gaze. “What do you see when you look at me?”

You shook your head with loss for words, recoiling back in your chair as far as you could get.

He smiled brazenly, his left eye blinking several seconds before his right.

“You don’t know, do you? You can’t possibly comprehend what I am. The power that I hold, nor the wondrous blood that runs through my veins. You simply look upon me and see… a monster, I suppose?”

“I d- don’t u- understand-”

“No.” He hissed, his crimson eye flashing with something akin to anger. “You don’t. But you will. The whole world will.”

He stood from his crouching position, dragging his chair to no more than several inches away from you as he straddled it backwards. You fought to catch your breath, no single thought staying with you for longer than a few seconds before the next one made itself known.

“Before we get into this, I’ll make quick with the formalities.” He sighed, sweeping his taloned hand across his head.

“You are Y/N L/N, freelance Envoy to the Company. Talented in tracking, leashing and reigning in vampires of Class B and C blood strains, you’ve yet to have an unsuccessful mission. Coincidentally, this is your first.”

You could do nothing but gawp at him.

“You’re generally reliable, or have been thus far. Quick to temper and more dependant on alcohol than most. You also, in light of recent events, appear to having something of an exaggerated soft spot for vampires, correct?”

If he wanted an answer, you couldn’t have given it, and that seemed to suit him as he simply waved off your lack of a response and continued his monologue. He knew he was right, just as you did.

“You may refer to me as Zeke. Trusted Lieutenant and right hand man of WAHVA’s esteemed CEO himself, Sir. Simon Spencer.”

“S- Spencer?!” You choked, that being the one thing that managed to grab your attention above all else.

The only thing you knew of him was his reputation, aside from the many accolades he’d been awarded for his work and the strides WAHVA had made towards human and vampire coexistence. You’d never seen him on television, press conferences or anything of the like, and indeed, he was notorious for leading a sheltered life, away from the spotlight that many believed he should have.

“ _Sir_. Spencer.” Zeke growled, your outburst clearly not sitting well with him on some level of respect.

Perhaps it was naïve of you to believe that this entire circumstance and general ill will was a one off, a situation independent of WAHVA and their larger goal, at the hands of a single group of people working under them.

Yet the presence of Spencer’s apparent right hand man alone was enough to tell you that this ran far deeper than you ever could have anticipated.

Your head simply spun with the implications of what it all meant.

“I am… the new breed, Y/N…” He breathed, inhaling a deep breath as though the stale air of the warehouse somehow smelled different to him. “The future. The best of both human and vampire. A glorious living testament to Sir. Spencer’s vision.”

“Y- You’re a… a _freak_ , I can tell it just by looking at you-”

Stupid of you to poke the lion, yet you did it all the same.

“Freak?!” He bellowed, all but surging from his chair with rage. “You can only aspire to be as enlightened as I! I am the pinnacle of evolution, Y/N, of what will come to be! The very foundation of the new world order-”

“N- New world order?” You scoffed, interrupting his villainous monologue. “What the fuck does that even _mean_? Listen to yourself!”

He shook his head slowly, appearing to come to some sort of revelation that you could only speculate at, much like most of the things he was spewing.

“The vampires and their allures,” he began, seeming to settle in his demeanour. “They’re a resource. A veritable pool of power simply waiting to be tapped into. We do just that, Y/N. Through the contracts we draw up, we tread the legal line and wave a banner of unity for all, offering protection and rights for the creatures we will ultimately exploit.”

“So it’s all a _fucking_ show-”

“It is,” he agreed. “A show of the best kind. Though not all of it. Vampire life _has_ improved, has it not? We put an end to the war, no? How many of them are alive at our hands, do you imagine? All of them? I’d say so…”

You thrashed in your chains, the urge to land him a sharp, swift smack to the face bubbling up inside you, despite the pain to your head.

“They live, Y/N, that we might use them. They simply line up at our doors, begging and pleading for a sup of the good life, and we provide just that. It’s only fair that they give us a measure of their power in return-”

“They’re not fucking tools!” You yelled, tears rolling free of your eyes. “They’re people, just like the rest of us!”

“Oh, but they’re not like the rest of you, Y/N. ” He purred, still seeming so distant, as if clouded by a future vision. “And indeed, that’s the whole point. Their powers are a boon, and it is our duty to source them as such.”

“So what?” You coughed, seething at the edges. “What do you do with them?!”

Zeke pursed his lips, clearly debating for a moment whether or not to enlighten you as to the truths you were no doubt absently aware of by now. All you needed were specifics. And if he truly believed that you were never going to leave this place, which you were quickly beginning to, he’d no doubt give you those truths.

And so your heart sank as he began to speak.

“Sir. Spencer believes that the vampires are powerful beyond their own knowledge. To be revered, if they weren’t so flawed. Because they are cursed with their thirst, and that is what ruins them, in the end. It renders them unpredictable. They’re uncontrolled, as they are.”

“And?”

“Imagine, if you will,” he sighed, gesturing up to the heavens in worship of an unseen vision. “A world where humans are no longer just… _human_. Where they are stronger. Sturdier. Able to withstand a bullet to the chest or a stab to the spleen, to recover from such things naturally. No weakness to disease, no threat of hunger…”

You shook your head in disbelief, putting the fragmented pieces together the deeper he went into his tirade.

“… Where there is a new order of species, of _enhanced_ human that possess the raw strength of a vampire, the speed and latent abilities, without the imperfections they carry to tempt them from the path of evolution-”

“This is ridiculous-”

“It is,” he babbled, eyes wide and admiring. “Ridiculously perfect. A dream that is all too possible, Y/N.”

“Possible?!” You cried, still in wild disbelief of anything he was saying. “How is this even remotely possible?!”

His crimson eye flashed, a slathering grin crossing his lips as he held his hands up before you. Propped on the back seat of the chair, he held his human palm up, glossing one of his taloned nails across the skin. It broke, as expected, droplets of blood expelling from the wound and pattering to the floor.

“This… is what makes it possible. It is what makes _me_ possible. The blood. It holds all the secrets, all the strength. We work _with_ it, nurture and refine it, transfusing the superior end product of our research into humans. We halt the vampirification process _just_ before it breaks through, while a sliver of human cognitive function yet remains. When the limbo between life and undeath is at its’ peak… And what is left behind, Y/N, is truly a thing most wonderful.”

You swallowed thickly, your brain racing despite your inability to form coherent thoughts.

“We source the vampires, harvest their blood. Pool our endless resources to identify, track and trace the most powerful of them for our own benefit, for Sir. Spencer’s research.”

“The blood strains.” You whispered, more to yourself than to him.

“Indeed,” Zeke continued, watching the blood morbidly as it fell. “The more potent, the better. Class A vampires are the purest of their kind, as rare as gold dust, notoriously hostile. Yet you still managed to worm your way into the graces of easily the most powerful family we’ve found to date. It’s commendable, really.”

“It’s why I was sent out there, isn’t it?” You sobbed, a new sense of betrayal setting in. “I was never supposed to re-establish contact. You used me, manipulated me. I was just a _fucking_ pawn…”

A gentle sound of hushing resounded from him, sympathetic in nature yet too mocking to be anything other than unsettling.

“We couldn’t have done it without you. You did a wonderful job, Y/N,” he leered. “Better than we could have anticipated. We were fully prepared to enact contingencies in the event of your death, so you can imagine our surprise when it wasn’t required. Now everything we need, that all-important data is sitting pretty in that otherwise empty head of yours. So I’d say this endeavour was a resounding success on all sides, wouldn’t you?”

A groan of frustration ripped from your throat, yet more tugging at the chains on your wrists.

You hated this, with every fibre of your being you wanted to scream and rip the talons from the thing before you, yet you couldn’t. You could only despair, lamenting on his words and the fact that you’d done exactly as they’d wanted, without even knowing it.

“These vampires know not what they carry.” Zeke mused. “It is a waste, a tragic oversight on nature’s part to grant them such power that they drown in. So we do what we must. Some of your vampires may survive the process of extraction and the tests. Most will not, like all the others before them. That is simply the price we must pay… for evolutionary perfection.”

Everything had begun to fall into place, the whole picture becoming clearer the longer he spoke of his delusions, of the delusions of WAHVA and their clinically insane CEO.

The enrolment interviews, firstly posed as a way to make contact between WAHVA and the clans, were in truth, their opportunity to identify the categories of blood strain, the strength of them. A way for WAHVA to determine their worth to the cause.

The contracts themselves, a farce to keep the families on board, were in fact simply a leash to hold them on. Through the legal power WAHVA held, it bound the clans to them, in some form or another. A socially acceptable prison.

And the volunteer programmes, fronted as an act of kindness and tolerance on the vampires part, were nothing more than WAHVA’s way of scouting out the most powerful of allures, presenting their targets, whilst also shoring up the Envoys with temporary resistances to them, so they could go out and do their jobs from the beginning of the wretched cycle.

It was all too much for you to bear.

“W- What happened,” you choked, stifling another sob, “to the idea of coexistence? Why can’t we just live side by side with them? Treat them as equals.”

Zeke seemed almost sympathetic with the expression that crossed his face, a hum of understanding emitting from him.

“You know that’s not possible, Y/N,” he sighed. “The vampires are not to be trusted. Whatever their measure of control, it never lasts. They are animals, and should be treated as such. We are at least doing them the kindness of extorting their legacy before they inevitably wipe each other out.”

“You’re w- wrong… This is all _wrong_ -”

He stood from his chair, turning it around by the seat before he settled back into it, forward facing.

“Coexistence is a pipe dream. A listless fairy tale. Nothing more. The thirst does, and always will, win in the end.”

He leaned forwards lazily, trying to catch your line of sight as you did nothing but avoid it. Yet that was only until his talons graced your chin, the sensation sending shivers of revulsion through you.

“You say you’re the new breed,” you muttered, doing your best to still the quaking in your shoulders. “But you’re not. You’re an abomination. Worse than any vampire, human, or _thing_.”

He simply grinned, his mouth looking like it was crammed full of too many teeth, and it could well have been for all you knew.

“I am a _survivor_ , Y/N. A figurehead for the masses. The things I had to endure, the tests and surgeries, the endless transfusions of both human and vampire blood, the wretched pain and suffering… I welcomed it. All in the same of advancement. There’s not a single person like me on earth, and that remains an undisputed fact. I am Sir. Spencer’s first success, his pride and joy.”

“Until there’s more of you, right? Because that’s the whole point of this? To create a race of fucking freaks that’ll replace everyone and lose their humanity in the process-”

“Humanity is overrated, Y/N, as I’m sure you’ll come to agree.” He smirked, cracking his neck in preparation of something. “Because as much as I’ve enjoyed our little chat, it appears we still have work to do. And your _sacred_ humanity is exactly what’s going to ruin you.”

“Fuck you-”

“I will hurt you,” he continued, dismissing your retort, “and you will withstand. So I’ll hurt you more, and you _might_ withstand. If you do, I’ll start removing your limbs. Fingers, then toes. You’ll _feel_ the pain, because your humanity demands it, and you’ll wonder if it’s all worth it. If protecting the vampires you’ve cavorted with is worth your life.”

“They’re worth _everything_ -”

“So you say,” he grinned, placing his hands on your bare thighs once more, “and I’d be inclined to agree. They are worth far more than you. You can be safe in the knowledge that their blood will advance our vision in unprecedented ways.”

He tensed from the arms down, his eyes darkening in both shades as his grip on you hardened. Your heart rate picked up inexplicably, a fetid crackling claiming the air around you. Like a lightning bolt that was fitting to strike, a tangible sense of dread settled in your gut.

“I’m still learning to control this, Y/N,” he grunted, focusing all his effort on you, “so you’ll forgive me any errors. This might get… nasty.”

You’d always considered your pain threshold to be higher than that of the average person, if only because your job demanded you be able to put up with the occasional cut or scrape.

Yet the high pitched ringing that shrilled through your head made you cry out immediately, your eyes screwing shut as you thrashed against the chains that bound you.

As if a physical drill had been taken to your skull, your body reverberated helplessly, and you could only imagine it to be akin to the feeling of pure electrocution, in that moment.

Your body ran too hot, every hair standing on end too sharply, the pulse in your head worsening until he removed his hands from you, holding them barely an inch above your skin.

You cracked open your eyes amongst the sobs and cries that left you, tears streaming from them as you looked up on the leering visage of Zeke’s face.

“Still with me?” He crooned, clearly pleased with himself. “That went surprisingly well. The first person I tested that on had their head explode.”

You imagined you’d rather have that happen to you than go through that again.

“So, I’m going to ask you once, and only once. By name of each of the creatures, you’re going to tell me what their strain is, specifically. I take your refusal to cooperate thus far as confirmation that they are, in fact, Class A’s, so don’t get clever. You’re then going to tell me what their allure is, what it does.”

You shook your head hopelessly, too drained to form a verbal response.

“With that information, we will enact our attack on their little lair to secure them as subjects. If you refuse to answer, you get hurt. Do you understand?” He preached.

“I…”

“Good. Then we begin.”

* * *

##### Names and pain.

Zeke spoke a name. You remained silent. Pain ensued.

It was a circle of the most abhorrent kind, one that you were utterly trapped in, robbed of any way to escape.

He had said he’d ask you only once, yet your stalwart refusal to give him even a whisper of a response, let alone any indication that the names were of any recognition to you at all, meant he’d had to repeat himself on several accounts.

You were surprised with yourself, you could admit. For holding out this long, for even managing to remain conscious as he once more gripped your bruised thighs and sent waves of searing agony through your body, your chest feeling fit to explode at any moment with the way your heart was pounding.

It was taking its’ toll on him, you knew.

Sweat had formed on his temples, along his brow, trickling down the canvas of his mutated face as he exerted yet more effort to enact his clinically manufactured allure. The faintest stream of off-crimson blood seeped from his nose, and you wondered if he’d give out before you did.

Indeed, it would disprove Spencer’s entire hypothesis of a superior hybrid race on the spot. The notion was utterly hilarious, if nothing else.

Yet as your cries of anguish filled the dreary warehouse, your body set to give out at any second, Zeke appeared to be far from finished.

“Once more, Y/N,” he hissed, clenching his jaw. “And this will be the last round. My patience wears thin.”

You cracked open your heavy lids, flashing him your best glare inasmuch as you could move the muscles of your face. Your breaths were coming heavier, more shallow every time, and while the pain was undoubtedly the worst you’d ever felt, the physical consequences only seemed to extend to draining you of your energy, as far as you could tell. You wondered if you’d be able to speak at all, if you tried.

“Han Jisung. What is his blood strain and allure?”

Weighted moments passed, visions of his soft brown hair and puffed cheeks playing out in your head. Of his toothy smile and large hoodies, his wondrous red eyes looking at you with admiration.

And then a boiling pain. Every muscle in rampant spasm as Zeke dug his talons to your flesh, subjecting you to his makeshift powers once again.

“Kim Seungmin…” He growled, stopping his assault for only a moment. “Blood strain. Allure.”

You whimpered pathetically in the time he gave you to answer, flashes of the vampire’s stoic glare and harsh words coming back to you. He’d never liked you, you knew. Yet you would die before betraying him.

So on receiving nothing, Zeke once again clamped his taloned hand to your thigh, the human fingers worsening the bruises he’d created on the other. The scream that bubbled in you was piercing, helpless, your body shaking with the effort of retaining consciousness. For you feared you’d never wake up if you lost it.

“Hwang Hyunjin, Y/N. Strain and allure.”

You shook your head, welcoming the brief break from the torture, yet it didn’t last. The faint memory of the tender kiss he’d once pressed to the knuckles of your hand in needless apology was ripped from you as your silence sealed your fate, replaced with wrenching agony and terror.

“This is getting boring, little girl. Lee Felix. Blood strain? Allure?!”

A particularly woeful sobbed escaped you at the mention of that name, your heart swelling desperately in lament of him. Yet now that you thought about it, it dawned on you that you hadn’t actually been privy to his specific allure, and you counted that a wondrous blessing in this moment.

And just as you’d become used to, the faltering visage of his bright, freckled face and undeservingly sympathetic eyes were stolen from you with the touch that followed.

“P- Please…” you cried, your lips too swollen and tongue too dry. “P- _Please_ s- stop…”

“Yang Jeongin,” Zeke huffed, ignoring your plea with tensed shoulders as he briefly removed his hands from your skin. “Give me the _fucking_ blood strain. Give me the allure.”

Deep blue hair and a borderline whimsical character, with the appearance of one who needs to be protected despite being so irreverently strong, you recalled the night he’d been hurt trying to protect you at the club. He’d been hurt, because of _you_. Perhaps this was your recompense.

The memory alone was enough to worsen your bawls even before the torture resumed, and resume it did, for you were once again afflicted with his evil, your body wracked with soreness.

“Seo Changbin, Y/N. Give me the strain and allure. Now.”

“S- Stop! P- Please! _Please_ … j- just-”

“Give it up, bitch-” Zeke hissed, subjecting you to further pain before you’d even had the chance to think over the hazing powers of the handsome, hostile vampire that had taken you captive in the first place. Though he hadn’t remained so cruel. He’d soon become someone you cared for, fiercely protective of his brothers, with a hesitant soft spot for you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the meagre action of breathing causing nothing but excruciating agony as Zeke loosened his hold on your leg.

“We’re running out of creatures, Y/N,” he muttered, swiping his sleeve across his sweat ridden brow, dapping at the blood from his nose before continuing. “And you’ve yet to cooperate on a single one. You realise you won’t survive this?”

You huffed a deep breath, wincing in discomfort as the tightness to your chest and the inflammation in your muscles made itself known.

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps this was your end, after everything.

Yet you still had fight left in you. Even if your body were to break and your mind were to be dulled to the point of no recovery, you could be safe in the knowledge that you’d paid your dues to the family. That, in some way, you’d taken responsibility for the troubles you brought on them, for the conflicts you’d created.

“Why defend them so?” He griped, clearly bemused with you. “ _Why_ protect this family that would kill you sooner than blink?”

“B- Because,” you wheezed, fumbling over the words. “They’re just that… _My_ family.”

It was a simple answer, you knew. Yet nothing less than the truth.

A wry smirk crossed his lips, the colour to his crimson shaded eye deepening with your confession.

“Foolish girl.” He sighed, hovering his hands above your tender, sore thighs, which were now painted with blotches of yellow and purple.

And just as you braced for the uttering of the next name you’d grown to love, just as you conjured up fantasies of being in some other place, at some other time in an effort to make this even remotely bearable, a billowing of wind stole the last breath from your lungs.

Zeke recoiled, clearly taken aback at the sudden intrusion as the shutter door to the warehouse flung open, offering with it a blinding ray of light that flooded the concrete floor. It burnt your eyes, your vision whiting as a figure approached your position, Zeke quickly standing and bracing for the defensive.

“This is _my_ case!” He bellowed, furious at the interruption by the person you still couldn’t make out. “Leave, right now!”

“No more, Zeke.” The voice spoke, and on the fringes of your consciousness, you recognised it. Perhaps you would have been able to place it if not for the washing of drowsy relief that claimed you in that moment.

As the thumping of your heart slowed to a near inaudible rhythm, as the scene of Zeke and the stranger engaging in a fight that would no doubt end in bloodshed played out before your broken form, your lids slid closed.

You finally, _finally_ , gave out.

To a welcome, endless, blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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